The Long Road
by Jack B. Nimble
Summary: [Abandoned] Follow up to 'Speed Limits:' Pietro must come to terms with the extent of his injuries dealt to him by Magneto while learning to live at Xavier's school.
1. A Rude Awakening

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Author's Note:  
  
Greetings.  
  
Don't bother me about characterization. There is a method to my madness. Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the story. And leave reviews. Non- profit fanfic authors thrive on the buggers. Since we obviously don't charge for these, we settle for basking in reader reviews.  
  
Synopsis:  
  
Pietro slowly recovers from his spinal injury during the late fight with Magneto and his allies. It's slow going as the Professor and the rest of the faculty and students try to integrate the remains of the Brotherhood into their world. Our favorite speedster learns some lessons along the way.  
  
Alternate Universe. Set after the events of 'Speed Limits,' my previous flick. Later chapters will occur simultaneously with 'Queen's Side Castle.' If you haven't read 'Speed Limits,' then you'll end up scratching your head. A lot.  
  
Disclaimer:  
  
I don't own any of these characters. If I did, it wouldn't be a cartoon. It'd be a WB show starring a horde of really attractive people with a special guest appearance by Patrick Stewart as Xavier. And I'd also be rich, as X-Men is a big franchise.  
  
Instead, I'll settle for borrowing these folks for a little action, adventure, romance, drama, comedy and the rest. Seems only fair.  
  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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Blink.  
I stared up at the ceiling, caught in that hazy twilight between sleep and wakefulness. White tiles filled my vision. This wasn't the Brotherhood house, unless someone had knocked over a bank and paid for renovations. I wouldn't put that past Todd, but it probably hadn't happened. Besides, if the house had been worked on, I'm sure they'd have gotten rid of that god-awful draft. I yawned and tried to sit up when it hit me.  
I couldn't feel my legs.  
Yeah, I panicked. Sue me. I stared down my body, seeing my legs outlined against the sheets. Ok, calm down, I told myself. You can still run. I was breathing really fast, on the verge of hyperventilating. It took an act of will I wasn't sure I had to slow my breaths down to something resembling normal. I'd worry about the strange room when I figured out what was wrong with my legs.  
I tried to reach out and feel them, make sure they were real legs, but my arms were restrained. No, I wasn't tied up, thank you very much, but there were a lot of tubes sticking into my skin. Lots of needles.  
Needles.  
I felt a scream building and had to choke it down. It left a bad taste in my mouth. I remembered now why I couldn't feel my legs. My father had shoved a huge hypodermic through my gut. My own father! I lay back against the pillows, glaring at the ceiling tiles. All right, in all fairness, he hadn't been aiming at ME. I just happened to get in his way. Big surprise, I guess.  
He'd been aiming at Kurt and Logan. If it had just been Logan he'd been trying to stick, I'd have probably let him. Even the Brotherhood knows that Logan can heal just about anything. But Kurt didn't have that ability. What was that fool thinking, shielding Logan with his own body? Why did I do such a stupid thing?  
And why do I feel like it was the right thing?  
I pondered this for a few minutes, counting the tiles again. The only noise in the room was a steady beeping from one of those heart monitors you see in a hospital. This wasn't a hospital, though. The room didn't have a single window except for the one out to the hallway. I had a pretty good idea that I was underground. Was I with Xavier's geeks? Taking charity from baldy wasn't my cup of tea, so I started looking around for a button or whatever you use to call a nurse with.  
No luck. I fought down the urge to panic again, but a really pathetic squeak came out anyway. Darn it, Pietro. You can do better than that. Be strong! That's all Dad ever wanted you to do anyway. The sound echoed through the room.  
Must have been a really loud squeak, now that I think about it, because that big furry guy (Hank?) poked his head into the window frame and raised his eyebrows at me. I gave him a little finger wave. Why on Earth was he smiling like that? Doesn't he know that he's got fangs the size of my thumbs?  
There's a question I'd have to ask. Did they just prop the Beast up on the porch at Halloween to scare off trick-or-treaters?  
He opened the door and walked up to the bed. I don't remember him being this big last time I was this close to him. Jeez. I think he could have palmed my head.  
"And how are we feeling today, Mr. Maximoff?" he rumbled at me. The sound was deafening after twenty minutes of listening to that machine beep at me. I swallowed a couple times. My throat was really, really dry.  
"I don't know yet. How are we?" I croaked back. I must have let a little grumpiness into my voice, because his smile wilted around the edges. Good. I couldn't think of a single reason to be nice to anyone who could patch me up and forget to reattach my freakin' legs. His huge hand reached past my head and I flinched. Darn it. He patted my shoulder.  
"All things considered, you're doing pretty well."  
I took a sip from the bottle of Gatorade he produced from somewhere behind me and nearly gagged. Ugh. It was the blue stuff. I hate the blue stuff. He chuckled.  
"Little dry?"  
I cleared my throat.  
"Yeah, just a little."  
He chuckled again. That sound was really starting to grate on my nerves.  
"Really, Pietro, how do you feel?"  
I considered that for a moment. Now that I thought about it, I was actually feeling pretty decent. Well, ok, the legs were still numb. Other than that, however, I just felt dry and sore.  
My stomach growled and the sound was huge in the quiet room. We both stared down at my midsection and I realized suddenly why the room felt drafty.  
"Uh, where are my clothes?"  
"In the closet, of course," Hank told me. He was poking buttons on one of the machines near the bed. "Lance and Scott went over to that pit you call a boarding house a couple days ago and packed everything up." That was news. Not the part about the Brotherhood house being a pit - that was pretty much right on the mark - but that Lance and Scott had done anything together. I'd have to make a point of asking Lance about that.  
"Lance is ok?" I asked, trying not to sound too concerned. Last time I'd seen him, he'd been tied up with a steel bar with that toxic crap running through his veins. Magneto had been on the verge of taking him and my sister away to who-knows-where when the X-Men had come to the rescue. Just like the cavalry. Heh.  
"He's fine, just fine. So is Wanda," Hank said over his shoulder. He finished whatever he was doing and turned back to me. "How's dinner sound?"  
My stomach growled again. "Sounds fine, I guess."  
He grinned at me, flashing those huge fangs. Man, that was creepy.  
"Fast or slow?" he asked. I looked down where he pointed at the bandages holding the needles in place. Ick.  
"Fast. Ow!" I rubbed my forearm. "Could I please have some clothing?"  
Call me a prude, but I didn't feel like flashing my bare, skinny ass at this guy. I winced as he pulled the last of the IVs out of my arms. Man, that hurt. Now I know why I hate getting shots. Heck. Considering that big one my father tried to give me, I think I could live without getting stuck again. Like, ever.  
Hank disappeared behind me for a minute or two. I felt the sheets move as a t-shirt and jeans landed on the bed, followed quickly by underclothes. It felt really weird not to feel the weight of the fabric on my legs. That was going to take a lot of getting used to.  
"You need help," he asked with a gesture at the clothes. I glared at him in reply and he got the point. He left the room, closing the door behind him. I waited until he was out of the window before I threw the covers back.  
I can only imagine the look on my face, but it probably resembled that of a frog. My eyes nearly popped out of my head and I turned quite green. My chest and stomach were a mass of bruises, which stretched to eternity down my body. The only interruption was a wide bandage fastened around my middle, about an inch above my navel. I poked at that, wincing as my tender muscles protested.  
I dimly remembered that redheaded doctor telling me that my spinal cord had been bruised and not completely severed. That probably explained why I still had feeling down to my groin. She'd told me this during one of the few lucid moments I'd had during the last, what, day? Week? How long had I been down here, anyway?  
Well, if the color of the bruises were any indication, at least a week, probably more. Crap. Time flies when you're having feverish hallucinations.  
My legs looked just as bad. I have very pale skin to begin. It looked like someone had spilled tempura paint all over me from my knees to my neck. The bruising was just that vivid and ugly.  
I swallowed hard and struggled forever until I was in a sitting position. I never knew just how hard that was when you couldn't use your legs for leverage. Xavier probably had years more practice, but this couldn't get any easier. I felt tired just worming around to the point where I could sit on my own.  
The wall behind me felt cool, like a wet towel draped over my back. It felt quite good, actually. There was a padded sensation low on my back. I reached around and felt more padding. Oh God, that's right. The needle had driven right through me.  
I blinked back tears and groped for the t-shirt. Pulling it over my head, I shrugged my shoulders to settle it. Ache, ache, ache. Jeez. Maybe I could convince the big furball outside the room to give me a painkiller.  
Getting everything else settled into place was a little more difficult. I finally had to grab and drag my legs closer to the rest of me using both hands. They were so heavy, like leaden weights or one of Fred's sandwiches. I'd have to make a point of asking about Fred and Todd when I got out of here.  
The underwear was uncomfortable. I'm just not a whitey-tighty kind of guy, you know? Have to admit that the little 'x' in a circle right over the crotch was a little over to top, too. The struggle to get it worked up my useless legs took a long time. I hate to admit it, but I was worn out after getting that far. It just wasn't freakin' fair! Why did this kind of crap always happen to people like me! I couldn't even get the jeans on.  
I just couldn't handle this bull any longer. I slumped against the wall, and couldn't hold back the tears any longer. I needed to run! I had to keep moving. Lying unconscious in a hospital bed was one thing, especially if I was doped up to the eyeballs just to keep from moving. But to be awake and aware and not be able to even get my pants on? That was just too much.  
The door creaked open again and I didn't care. I smelled perfume and felt someone sit on the edge of the bed. That Scottish doctor. She wrapped her arm around my shoulder, pulling me forward to lean against her own. I just lost it at that point.  
"I know it's too much to handle, ye wee dear," she whispered in my ear, stroking my hair, rubbing my back. No kidding, lady. If her words were meant to be a comfort, she needed more practice. I took what I could get, though, and cried myself dry.  
Eventually I pulled away, wiping the last traces of tears from my eyes and snorting heartily. Ah, at least the old nose still works, I thought. The woman adjusted her glasses and picked up the jeans from where I'd let them fall across my legs.  
"There's a trick t' this," she said as if I hadn't just embarrassed myself. She scrunched the material up and slipped them over my feet. "Ever heard the phrase, 'everyone puts their trousers on one leg at a time'?"  
I nodded, sniffing again.  
"Well, ye don't do that n' more. It's a lot easier t' tug them up both a' once. Scoot forward," she said. Between the two of us, I moved away from the wall. She gently pressed me back into the pillow so I was sort of half propped-up. I watched as she drew the jeans up my legs. She made it look so easy I couldn't help but be envious. How many times had she done this in the past? For Xavier, maybe?  
I had to stop her at a certain point, though. Someone had done their homework and made sure I had button-fly tan Levi's. When she reached for the button to do up the crotch, I stopped her.  
"Um, I think I can manage it from here."  
She didn't so much as bat an eye, just stood up and walked out. Thank God for small miracles.  
I buttoned the jeans in a hurry, flexing my power just a bit. It didn't hurt at all to move quickly. Wow. That couldn't be right. I looked over to where the redhead was still on her way out the door. Could it? To test this theory, I kept my eye on her and unbuttoned the jeans. Then I fastened them again. And repeated the process several more times before she actually left the room.  
Sweet! I did a little dance (well, ok, as best I could with only my upper body) and exulted at my success.  
"You done showin' off?"  
I jerked my head up, feeling a slow flush creep above the collar of the t-shirt. Logan stood framed in the doorway. I must have jerked involuntarily, but I did my best to cover the movement. Instead, I assumed a haughty expression.  
"Just testing my power. I'm still the fastest man alive," I said, carefully studying my fingernails. I'd have to make a point of cleaning them, actually.  
The big man chuckled and the sound made me shudder.  
"Good," he said, with a wave at my unbuttoned jeans. I blushed again. "You've got little enough else to be proud of."  
"Hey!" Well, really! How rude can you get?  
"Logan!" Woohoo! Saved by the doctor.again. This was getting to be a habit.  
Logan snickered and moved out of the doorway, crossing his arms to lean against the frame. Doctor MacTaggart, for that's what it said on her nametag, wheeled a snazzy wheelchair into the room, parking it by the bed. It looked like something out of a sci-fi flick, or maybe a comic book. In fact, it looked just like the one Xavier usually cruised around in. I peered a little closer at it.  
"What, I don't rate a motorized one?" I laughed as I said it. Motor or not, at least it looked cool. Logan rolled his eyes at me.  
"Yer on the scrawny side, boyo," the doctor said. She looked at a char tucked under her arm. "Five-foot-five and barely over seven stone." Seven what? I must have said that out loud. "Yer hardly over a hundred pounds," she told me somewhat sternly. Ok, so I was a bit underfed. So what?  
"Once yer feeling a little stronger, you'll be able to wheel this yerself. Tha' should put a bit of meat on yer bones." Oh. That made sense. Beats working out in the gym, I guess.  
Logan stepped forward. "We'll teach you how to get in and out of this thing later," he told me in a matter-of-fact voice. Before I could object, he scooped me up as though I weighed nothing. I suppose, in light of the fact that his biceps were as big around as my waist, I probably felt like a rag doll. A moment later, he had me settled in the chair. Doctor MacTaggart knelt and slipped my feet into something soft before making sure they were securely in place. I looked down.  
"Bunny slippers. How cute."  
Doctor MacTaggart just smiled at me. Logan moved around behind the chair and I felt his hands gripping the handles. He leaned over and I peered up at him. The grin on his face was somewhat unsettling, but I managed a faint one of my own.  
"Hank said yer hungry."  
Right. Food. My stomach growled yet again and I sighed.  
"You might say that."  
And with that, Doctor MacTaggart led our little party out of the sickroom. For the first time since before that fight with my father, I actually felt like the world wasn't going to blow up in my face. I was relatively clean, more or less in decent health and mostly clothed. Food was next on the schedule and then maybe I'd get to go outside for a while.  
Oh yeah, life was looking up.  
  
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To Be Continued. 


	2. An Old Memory

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
For some reason, this story just grabbed my attention. I posted the first part several hours ago and haven't been able to concentrate on anything else since. So, without further ado, here's another section. Read, review, and enjoy.  
Hint, hint, nudge, nudge. Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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It felt really weird to be pushed around in a wheelchair. Even more so because it was Wolverine doing the manual labor. Didn't he try to stick me with his claws last year? Repeatedly? He turned us around and backed into the elevator. Doctor MacTaggart and Hank joined us. The big blue guy let me push the button for the ground floor. Maybe it was 'Be Nice to Cripples' week.  
I couldn't understand why the Doc and Hank had such a silly grin on their face. Probably had some sort of surprise in store for me. This may sound strange, but I hate surprises. I glanced up, earning the usual scowl from Logan. At least some things never change. A funny thought crossed my mind. For a guy who'd been shot five times in the face, he looked pretty good.  
"You guys seem pretty happy for some reason," I said to Hank. He'd been pretty nice to me in the past. I owed the guy my life, I guess, so it couldn't hurt to be polite. [1] He exchanged a knowing look with Doctor MacTaggart and I found myself fantasizing about making a run for it. Except for the fact that my legs wouldn't work. Details, details. They were up to something and I knew I wasn't going to like it.  
I didn't have a chance to voice my objections, however, because the elevator doors conspired against me. A bell chimed somewhere and the doors rolled aside, revealing the lobby of the mansion. Some bozo had trimmed the large room with what I assume were meant to be festive decorations. They'd even gone so far as to hang a batter that said 'Welcome Back to the Land of the Living, Pietro!'  
If life was fair, I'd have been allowed to crawl under the nearest rock and just die.  
Life, I've noticed, isn't at all fair, however. Instead of hearing my mental scream of 'take me back, take me back!' Logan pushed me out onto the marble floor. Every single person in the world who irritated me was gathered in the lobby for this apparent festival of lunacy. Where did Xavier find so many students? No wonder the Brotherhood always felt outclassed when we fought. Baldy has too deep a bullpen.  
Heads turned when the elevator doors slid open and the room went nearly quiet. I say nearly because I'm pretty sure the sound of my heart beating echoed off the cathedral ceiling. I shot a sour look at Logan, who returned it with interest. On the plus side, he looked just as uncomfortable as I did. Aw, was the big, bad wolf afraid of a little party? If so, I could certainly commiserate.  
A cheer went up and the room erupted in applause. My ears rang from the sheer force of the noise. Everywhere I looked I could see people smiling at me and pounding their hands together. Were these people mainlining crack or something?  
Thankfully, the noise died out after a few minutes, replaced by a dull roar of conversation. Hank and the Doc moved off into the crowd of my peers, leaving me alone with Logan.  
"Where to first, kiddo?" he asked just loud enough to be heard over the crowd. I looked up at him, then around the room. Aha. Someone had thoughtfully set up a buffet table over by the base of the staircase in the center of the room. My mouth watered.  
"Just go ahead and park me over there, would you?" I said. Logan grunted and started pushing me through the assembled kids. It was slow going at first, because everyone was intent on shaking my hand or clapping me on the shoulder. My hand started to cramp after the first half-dozen people and my shoulders were really starting to throb. Hopefully this little soirée wouldn't last too long.  
Kitty phased her way through the crowd in my direction. I wondered how she got away with wearing that sort of outfit. The Professor seemed a little too uptight to be comfortable with his people wearing what amounted to a sports bra with that silly X-logo over each boob. Not that I complained or anything.  
Even better than the scanty shirt she was wearing was the bottle of ginger ale in her hand. "Hey," she said. Then she hugged me. I must have hesitated, because Logan smacked me lightly upside the head. A little overbearing, that one. I hugged her back and took the offered soda.  
Logan wheeled me to the base of the steps, well within reach of the buffet table. He stepped back as I sipped my soda, looking me over. I put on my best innocent expression and just stared back. Finally he just shook his head and headed toward the front door, fishing a crumpled pack of cigarettes [2] from his ever-present jacket.  
Kitty sat down on the bottom step next to me. Her bottle hissed as she twisted the top off and she too a long swig of Barq's.  
As soon as Wolverine was safely out of earshot, I leaned over to her.  
"What was the hug for?"  
She burped slightly and wiped her mouth. Gee, how ladylike can you get?  
"Excuse me. That was a thank-you for saving Kurt's life like that," she said. I really had to strain to hear her. A stereo had been cranked up somewhere in the background and the music was too loud for my taste. Which one of these weenies listened to Fats Domino, anyway?  
It took a moment for her words to register. Thank you? Oh, man. I hate emotional situations. It's times like these I really hate my fair complexion. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks as I looked away from her.  
"It was nothing," I mumbled, wishing she hadn't brought up the subject. "But it was!" She took a swig of her soda again. "I mean it. If you hadn't done that..." Oh, I cut that one off in a hurry. "If I hadn't done that I wouldn't be in this freakin' chair," I sneered. Silence.  
I looked over at her and was surprised to see that her eyes were moist. Nice job, dumb ass. See, there's this thing I do called accelerated speed. Sometimes I talk before I can think. I've also been known to put both feet in my mouth almost before I'm finished speaking. Man, this was awkward. I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder.  
"Hey, I didn't mean it like that." I'm sorry, my eyes said. Too bad she wasn't looking at me. No, really.  
She stood up as someone fought their way through the crowd toward us. I sighed when she walked away. Yeah, great going. You've been conscious for all of thirty minutes and you've already alienated one person. Let's see how long it takes to piss off the room, shall we? I was tempted to go after her, but the wheels on the chair wouldn't move. Logan had tripped the brake somehow and I couldn't figure out how to unlock the darn thing.  
I looked up at the person standing in front of me, starting to get peeved. I'd probably have said something stupid and inane if it hadn't been Lance standing there. We just stared at each other for a moment. He was all right. My mind was having trouble wrapping itself around that fact. Last I'd seen he was a limp heap wrapped in steel. Now here he was, sipping what looked suspiciously like whisky, and grinning at me like a fool.  
After a long moment, he stuck out his hand and we shook. Firm grip, as usual. "You're alive," he said. I raised my eyebrow at that and he grinned even wider. "For the most part," I said. I snatched his cup out of his hand faster than he could react and sniffed. Bleh. Apple cider. He took his cup back and drained it in one long pull, then sat down beside me.  
"Did you hear about Fred?" he asked? I looked at him for a moment then looked around the room, craning my neck in a vain attempt to see over people. As an afterthought, I also took stock of the buffet table. It was still more or less intact. That wasn't good.  
"Where is the big guy, anyway?" I asked. It was wholly out of character for the Blob not to be monopolizing the food supply.  
Lance reached over my and plucked a cluster of grapes off the fruit basket at the edge of the table. Popping one in his mouth, he said, "He's dead."  
Remember what I said about surprises? I spluttered, spraying ginger ale all over my shirt and lap and a sizable portion of the floor in front of me. Ugh. That stuff burns like the dickens when you snort it out your nose. I gagged a couple times, fighting for breath and looked at Lance with wide eyes. He had to be joking.  
He just looked back at me. If he was joking, I wouldn't have wanted to play poker with him. His eyes were looking not really at me, but through me as if I wasn't even there. Now that I had a good look at him, I noticed just how drawn and haggard he looked. It couldn't be true, and yet there wasn't any other reason for him to be looking this worn.  
Ever since Mystique had bailed out on us, Lance had been the one to take charge of our lives. It had been Lance who'd scrounged the money for bills, groceries and the rest. Lance who'd stood up for us and tried his best to protect us.  
The very thought of Fred dying on his watch seemed to have broken something inside him. I made a mental note to ask the Professor if he knew a good shrink.  
'As a matter of fact, I do.'  
I jerked in my wheelchair and looked wildly around the room. I hate when Xavier does that.  
'I'm sorry,' he said in my mind. 'I didn't realize you weren't comfortable with telepathy yet.'  
I jerked again. Lance must have thought I was having a seizure, because he suddenly gripped my arm. I looked down at his hand, followed his arm back to his body, to him. He was looking at me with the strangest expression.  
"You ok?" he choked. His tone of voice drove any remaining doubt from my mind.  
"I'm fine," I said. I had to try a couple times before I could continue. "How," I swallowed, took a sip of ginger ale and tried again. "How did it happen?" Don't ask me why this was important. I just had to know.  
Aside from the fact that Fred had been the strongest person I'd ever met, he'd also been the largest. I swear I could have fit four or five of me into one pair of his overalls. His other mutation, other than the incredible strength, had been his near invulnerable skin. You don't just beat a guy like that to death.  
"Would you believe a heart attack?" I searched Lance's face. He wasn't serious.  
"You're kidding," I said flatly. He shook his head, gesturing with the bunch of grapes.  
"No, really. Doctor MacTaggart did an autopsy." He grimaced and stood. I waited patiently as he refilled his cup from the punch bowl and sat down heavily beside me. "Remember when your...when Magneto hit him with that iron girder?"  
I nodded, unable to speak.  
"The Doc thinks that the impact of the thing on his breastbone caused a heart attack. I didn't understand all the technical parts."  
I just stared at my hands. This was unbelievable. I'd figured that Fred would probably outlive us all. Even now I couldn't really believe it. I looked around, fully expecting him to saunter through a door.  
When I finally looked up, Lance had disappeared. I searched the room for him, but couldn't see him at all. He'd just wandered off. The more I looked, the more I felt stifled. There were just too many people in here for comfort. A sigh escaped my lips and I reached down to figure out the brakes on the chair again.  
A moment later they disengaged before my eyes and I had to jerk upright to keep my balance. Jean was standing nearby and she winked at me. I nodded gratefully.  
"There someplace quieter around here, Red?" I asked her without thinking. Last time I'd called her that, she'd projected an image of my private parts being squeezed in a vise into my mind. Ouchie. Either she didn't notice or just didn't care this time. Instead, the chair started rolling forward on its own.  
She led me around the back of the stairs to the glass floor-to- ceiling windows that overlooked the back patio. Had to admit, the Prof sure had a swingin' pad here. In-ground pool, sauna, Jacuzzi, the works.  
The door opened before we got there. Must be nice being telekin...tele...being able to move things with your mind. Turned out it was actually later in the day that I thought. The sky was that ruddy orange color that only appears when you're staring at the wrong end of a sunset. The air was a welcome cool breath after the crowded heat of the lobby. I reveled in it for a moment, just tilted my head back and enjoyed the clean (relatively speaking. This was New York after all) air on my face and arms. This was a perfect night to run.  
Ouch. Next thing I knew, I was laying on the concrete of the patio, the chair overturned behind me. I couldn't run. Darn it. Damn it. Damn it all.  
"I hate you, father," I breathed.  
I'd forgotten that I had an audience. I felt arms around me and was lifted off the ground. Jean didn't say anything, just righted the chair with her mind and set me back into the thing.  
"Sorry," I muttered.  
"Don't worry about it. You're not exactly a heavyweight you know." She sighed and squatted down so she was at my eye level. Very patronizing of her, in retrospect. She must have picked that gesture up from Summers. "We're all going to have to adjust to this."  
"What?" What was she talking about?  
A puzzled look came over her face. "You mean Logan or Hank didn't tell you?"  
"Tell me what?" I pressed. One of these days people would stop talking to me like I was an idiot child. Couldn't happen soon enough, in my opinion.  
"The Professor contacted Social Services and had you placed into his guardianship," she told me. I thought about that.  
"Does this mean I'll have to live here?"  
Jean nodded, smiling as she patted my shoulder. "You have to heal somewhere, Pietro." She stood up and turned to leave me alone like I'd originally asked. "Lance and Wanda are more than welcome to stay here as well, of course. The Professor made that quite clear." I heard the door- wall slide shut behind me and was left alone in the falling darkness.  
Well, this was certainly an unexpected twist of fate. If nothing else, it would be a welcome change. I imagined that this house had more than one working bathroom. Probably a kitchen without roaches. That in itself was enough to turn my head. I smiled and leaned back in the chair. Maybe this wouldn't be too bad. After all, if I didn't like it, I could just get up and walk away...after I healed, that is. If I healed.  
I glanced down at my traitorous legs. If. That was the question, wasn't it? If I healed.  
What if the Doc was wrong and this paralysis was permanent? I started breathing a little faster. What if I was stuck in this wheelchair for the rest of my life? Oh my God, this was unacceptable. Totally out of the question. I had to find a specialist. Had to find someone who actually dealt with human patients and not genomes and whatever else Doctor MacTaggart played with in her spare time. I had to get out of here.  
That's pretty much when my mind shut down.  
Oh, I was still conscious. I could still see, still hear things. I was suddenly aware that I was on the verge of hyperventilating. Very, very aware. I just no longer had the urge to go anywhere. A suspicion crept through my mind.  
"You're wondering if I've taken control of your mind." The professor's voice came as a shock, as did the fact that he had indeed read my thoughts.  
"Don't DO that!" I yelped, whipping my head around. My voice cracked. Nice timing, that. Then I realized that he'd spoken aloud.  
Xavier rolled his wheelchair up beside mine, giving me a critical look. Why did I have the feeling he was sizing me up or something?  
"Moira was right," he murmured to himself. "You do look undernourished. We'll have to do something about that." He squinted, leaning a little closer to me to look me in the eyes and I suddenly knew that he had indeed squelched my flight instinct.  
"Indeed I did," he said in that urbane voice of his. "It's important that you not make too many demands on yourself while you heal, Pietro." I locked eyes with him with the most defiant expression I could muster. No one tells me what to do if I don't feel like going along with their plan. The man had the most intense gaze I'd ever seen a person. It wasn't any surprise that I couldn't hold onto it for more than a few seconds.  
"Why do you care anyway?" I asked, stubbornly.  
He raised his chin, looking out over the back yard. The stars were coming out, I saw. Not many, but a few shone through the deep red-purple twilight. Wish I'd had a camera. It's sort of hard to describe. Xavier pointed out at the stars twinkling overhead.  
"What do you think of those, Pietro?" he asked me quietly.  
I was dealing with a world-class telepath here, so I wasn't about to give him a smart answer.  
"The stars? They're kind of pretty." I wondered where this was going.  
"Yes, they are." He shifted in his chair slightly. "Erik and I used to sit out here on nights such as this and watch the stars from the roof of this very house, you know."  
I'm not slow or anything, but it took me a moment to realize he was talking about my father. It had been years, a lot of them, since I'd heard anyone refer to him as Erik Lensherr. Wanda and I were the product of a summer fling between him and a Lithuanian exchange student one summer sixteen years ago. [3] They'd never married and so we'd been brought up with her name instead of his. Our mother had died less than a year after we'd been born. A dim memory came back to me, skirting around the edge of my mind, but I couldn't put my finger on it.  
"No," I said. "Actually, I didn't know."  
Xavier turned that intense gaze at me again. For a fleeting moment I caught my reflection in his eyes. Then he shrugged.  
"Oh yes. He and I were once as brothers. But his ideas divided us." He sighed. I'd heard that line before, from Magneto.  
"What does this have to do with me?" I asked.  
The man folded his hands into his lap and sat very still for a long time, gazing out at the stars. After a moment, I gave up on getting an answer and did likewise. There were more stars now, glittering down on us. It was actually quite pretty now that I think about it. We sat there in silence for a while before he spoke again.  
"Do you remember anything of your life in New York?" he asked suddenly. Actually, no, I didn't. Dad had moved us there from London when Wanda and I were still small. I had an image of a cramped university apartment, and old beat-up Volkswagen Beetle and...  
"Wait-wait-wait," I stammered. "You. What are you doing in my memories?" I must have looked as shocked as I sounded. Xavier wheeled his chair around to face me.  
"You honestly don't remember?" he asked gently. Then, without waiting for a reply: "You and your sister are my godchildren."  
My jaw dropped into my lap. "You've got to be kidding."  
"No, I'm not. If you'd like, I can show you photographs and such from when you were small." My throat worked, but no sound came out. Too many shocks in one day, thank you very much. Waiter, check please! I just stared at the man, unable to answer. His head cocked to one side and he frowned, then he rolled his eyes.  
Turning his chair around, he ruffled my hair. Can you believe it? "Ororo needs help controlling the crowd in there. Think about my offer, please. I would like nothing more than to help you," he said as he rolled back into the house.  
I didn't answer, just slumped back into the chair and stared at the night sky.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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[1]: Not entirely truthful. Hank didn't actually save his life until the end of 'Speed Limits.' What Pietro is referring to is the first chapter of that story, when Big Blue stitched him up after he collapsed on the Institute ground. E.g. read the other fic first. ;)  
  
[2]: Ever notice how cigarettes packs are always described as crumpled in literature? Just once I'd like to see it appropriate for a character to pull a new pack of smokes from his or her pocket, unwrap the cellophane, pull the tin-foil out, and tap out a new stick. Not from me, though. I'm perfectly content to go along with the more common crumpled scenario.  
  
[3]: I've chosen to deviate from the 'Uncanny X-Men' origin of Magneto/Quicksilver/Scarlet Witch, leaning instead toward the less traditional 'Ultimate X-Men' story line. Short version is that Magneto and Xavier's falling-out was relatively recent. Up until that fateful happening, the two of them were quite close to the point of being a part of each other's children's early lives. In this series of fics, I'd say that the split happened roughly ten to twelve years before the present, making Pietro and his sister about four to five when their father and godfather went their separate ways. 


	3. A Small Confrontation

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Whee! More of Pietro's inner thoughts. Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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I have no idea how long I stayed outside, but it was an absolutely gorgeous evening. The sound of the party raging just inside the doors provided a pleasant contrast to the sound of crickets and other nighttime noises. After the hellish couple of weeks I'd had, it was a nice change of pace not to have to worry about anything.  
Yeah, I admit it. It felt really good that anything my father threw in my direction would have to wade through about fifteen X-Men before getting to me. That thought made me grin from ear to ear.  
Still, I wasn't entirely sure how well I'd fit in at Xavier's institute. The guy seemed nice enough, and I was starting to remember a little more of my past. Wanda and I had called him 'Uncle Charles' back then. Dad had been a graduate student at one of the SUNY schools and a single father before he and Xavier split. If my memory wasn't playing tricks on me, the two of us had spent a lot of time in our 'Uncle's' care.  
I raised an eyebrow. Hadn't he been married to Doctor MacTaggart back then? Or was the redheaded woman in my mind someone else? Oh well. Maybe later I'd take him up on his offer. I wouldn't mind seeing things from my past, from before Magneto entered all of our lives. That made me frown. Where was Wanda, anyway?  
I dragged my butt across the country to the lair of my rivals to save her. You'd think she'd have been a little grateful. Well, ok, I'd had a lot of help from Mystique and that blind friend of hers. It's the principle of the thing. I got the ball rolling after that woman deposited me behind a locker at Grand Central. Shouldn't that count for something? The door-wall opened behind me and for just an instant I thought perhaps my sister had come out to join me on the patio.  
No such luck.  
"Need something, fur ball?" I asked Nightcrawler as he closed the door. I let a little of the frustration I was feeling creep into my voice. I didn't bother looking at him as I spoke, either. It was his fault I was in this darn chair to begin with. Maybe he'd get the hint. "You know, for a guy..."  
"...who can teleport, why can't I just get lost? You've said that before."  
True enough. It hadn't worked last time either.  
"Nice night isn't it?" he said, coming up beside me. I risked a glance in his direction. He wasn't acting patronizing or sympathetic, not even the slightest bit concerned. What a novel idea.  
"Sure," I said. Might as well play along. Maybe if I kept being snide with him, he'd get the hint. "Probably be a lot nicer if I wasn't trapped in this wheelchair." Yeah, that was a sneer. Sue me.  
The guy went on as though he hadn't even heard me.  
"The ocean looks incredible at this time of year," he said thoughtfully. "A hundred shades of blue on a thousand little waves, each one reflecting the moon as though the sky was a rainbow and the ocean a pot of gold." I rolled my eyes. Just my luck that Nightcrawler would have a poetic streak.  
"Right. Incredible," I sighed. "Also completely out of my field of vision." He looked blank at that last comment. Oh, right. English wasn't his first language. "I can't see it from here."  
"Oh. Would you like to?"  
That caught me up short. Most of my life had been built around nervous tension. I tend to either dominate those weaker than me or hide from those who are stronger. I wasn't used to dealing with people treating me as equals. I didn't get a chance to say anything, though, because the door-wall slid open behind me. Nightcrawler's eyes went wide and I saw his body go tense. He started toward the door in that odd gait he was. What was wrong?  
I craned my neck around. Good thing I moved, too. I had a bare instant to duck to one side as a splinter of bone shot through the air past my nose. Oh crap.  
"Evan, no!" Nightcrawler yelled.  
"Get outta my way, Kurt!" Evan flexed his arm at me and I got lucky, catching this one in midair. I tossed it aside. Nightcrawler was doing his best to keep between us, but Evan had four inches on him and probably a good twenty pounds. And here I was, crippled.  
Great. Just great. I couldn't move at all because Jean had set the brake on this freakin' chair. I seriously considered just throwing over the arm of the chair to one side and trying to pull myself away. Of course, that would make me appear like a wuss, so it wasn't really an option. I don't mind looking like a pansy, but not in front of Daniels. I wouldn't allow him the satisfaction.  
On the other hand that may not have made much of a difference, either. Evan belted Nightcrawler solidly in the gut. The poor guy folded over, falling on the ground with a sharp grunt. At this point, I realized Evan was furious and it looked like I was next on his hit parade.  
"Um" I said. Eloquence personified, that's me. I tried again. "Can't we talk about this?"  
He was across the patio in a couple strides. It rather belatedly occurred to me to call for help. Daniels was clearly pissed about something. He scrunched his hands into my shirt, lifting me out of the chair. The material of the t-shirt was incredibly strong, I noticed. Why that occurred to me at that point in time, I'll never figure out.  
Evan's about an inch shorter than I am, but he lifted me clear off the ground anyway. I felt like an ass with my hands gripping his wrists and my legs dangling uselessly below me. Come on, I thought, you can do better than this.  
He pulled me forward until our faces were mere inches apart and snarled at me.  
"You come in here and crash a party, fine. But you don't ever, EVER, sit in the Professor's chair. Have respect for the man, you got me punk?!"  
I tried to object. Really, I did. Anyone else would have tried to diffuse the situation. Not me. Again my mouth acted independently of my brain.  
"You need to get your grades up in English, Daniels. 'Cause every other nitwit in that house knows why I'm-"  
Well, so much for diplomacy. He didn't let me finish, just tossed me up and back like I was a basketball. Oh boy. I caught a glimpse of Summers and some blond kid running, and I mean running, out of the mansion as I sailed through the air. As usual, his timing was impeccable. This was going to really suck when I landed. I couldn't help myself. The laughter just spilled past my lips as I watched the stars float lazily overhead.  
It didn't last long. I spun around and realized I wasn't going to land on the cement patio. The pool loomed up at me as I arced downward. Too late, I knew I wasn't going to be able to just swim to the edge. Someone screamed - a high-pitched, girlish shriek - and I realized it was me.  
I swallowed about a hundred gallons of water when I hit. Water went everywhere and I clearly saw the neat blue tiles at the bottom of the pool. If nothing else, the water did break my fall and I was able to scramble just enough to get my head above the water. Trust Evan to make sure I hit the deep end.  
Spluttering, I thrashed wildly, completely unable to keep my head above the surface for more than a moment.  
"What's the matter, Maximoff? Can't swim?" If I could you dink, you'd be on your butt by now, I thought. Summers had him in a hammerlock, which meant things were looking up. Maybe if I could get the hell out of this pool, I'd be able to laugh this off. Sure, just keep believing that.  
"No," Summers grunted. Evan was putting up a heck of a fight. "He can't. He's paralyzed from the wait down. Alex." That must have been the blond kid. He stripped his shirt off in a practiced movement and dove into the water like he belonged there. A second later, I felt arms around me and I stopped struggling.  
"Easy, dude. I gotcha," he told me, pulling us to the edge. He was a strong swimmer and the fact that my legs were dead weight (encased in wet jeans, I should add) didn't make much of a difference to him. I had the satisfaction of watching Evan's eyes bulge at Summer's revelation. Alex dragged me out of the pool and I gacked up the water I'd swallowed. Ew. So much for this outfit. I looked up at the small circle of people above me and smiled weakly.  
"Move along folks," I said, trying my hand at humor. "Nothing to see here."  
Summers rolled his eyes and snorted. I looked like a drowned albino rat. Maybe that was why. Then he released Evan, though I noticed One-Eye stood directly behind him just in case the idiot tried anything else. Would you believe Daniels offered me a hand up? I shook my head, but he was insistent.  
"Come on, man, I'm sorry."  
"You want me to try and stand?" Earth to Daniels, come in Daniels.  
Comprehension seeped into his eyes and he withdrew his hand. Summers ushered him back into the house, leaving me alone with Alex and Nightcrawler.  
"You ok, man?" I looked more closely at Alex. He looked a lot like a short, more tanned version of Summers. The last thing this world needs, I thought, is another Scott 'Stick-In-The-Arse' Summers. Maybe it was just coincidence.  
"I'm fine, really," I lied. Here's hoping he wasn't another telepath because I hurt like hell. Bad enough that water can hurt just as much as cement when you hit it, but it was also freezing and the chlorine was making the stab wound in my back itch.  
And I couldn't reach it. You have any idea how irritating that is?  
He motioned to Nightcrawler and between the two of them they managed to lift me back into the wheel chair. The world tilted and swam and I had to shake my head to right it again.  
"You're not fine at all," Nightcrawler muttered. "You lying little dummkopf."  
Give the guy a cigar. I just scowled at him, hugging myself. Sitting around in wet clothing was not my idea of a fun time.  
"We need to get him into dry clothing," Alex said over me at the little demon. No kidding, Sherlock. Far be it from me to say that out loud. Look what happened last time I tried to explain myself. My teeth started chattering and I clamped my mouth shut in a futile attempt to stop the noise.  
"Ja, I know." Nightcrawler was moving about behind me and I twisted around to look at him. He was looking thoughtfully at the back of the mansion.  
I had to ask. "Why are you counting windows?"  
"I'm trying to remember vhere your room is."  
"Who cares? Just pop us up into any one of them," I chattered. It took an act of will to keep my teeth from clacking together. Too bad I wasn't up to it.  
"Und vhat if I 'pop' us into von of the girl's rooms?" He sounded so serious, I had to laugh. He gave me a strange look and I wiggled my eyebrows at him.  
"Yeah? And what if?"  
Alex laughed. Kurt just rolled his eyes and placed his hand on my shoulder.  
Wow, holy vertigo Batman! I swear it felt like the entire world jump about three feet to one side the instant he clamped down on my shoulder. He'd done the whole teleportation thing to me back in Colorado, but it took a lot of getting used to. Lucky for me I didn't get airsick.  
A sulfurous smoke whirled around us, accompanied by a reasonably loud noise sort of like that of a leather-bound book hitting a desk. A good- sized book. Dictionary, maybe.  
[Bamf!]  
An instant later we were in a dark room and I realized too late that the chair was still sitting by the pool. I slumped and would have fallen, but Nightcrawler grabbed me with three hands and steadied me until he could get me to the bed, where I sat down. Three hands? I remembered how one of them felt and realized that he'd grabbed me with his tail, too. That had to come in handy sometimes.  
Lights blinked on, making my eyes blink rapidly. He must have 'ported us into his room. It wasn't hard to figure out. There was a pair of Dockers draped over a chair by the desk that had a hole in the backside big enough to fit a tail through.  
"Moment mal," Nightcrawler said from over by the light switch.  
[Bamf!] [Bamf!]  
I looked over in time to see him reappear with an armful of towels. He tossed them on the bed next to me and started rummaging through a drawer in the dresser across from the bed. It occurred to me that he wasn't wearing that his little hologram device.  
"You never run around in your fur at school," I said, drying off my head.  
His voice was muffled through the fluffy towel. "You really think I'd last through homeroom looking like this?"  
"Good point." I felt something hit the bed next to me. A neon yellow t-shirt with a weird logo on the front. It looked like one of those 'school crossing' signs I'd seen near Bayside High, only there wasn't a stick figure of a woman and child in the triangle. I smirked. A little guy with a pitchfork was pulling a smaller figure with a spaded tail across the street instead. Have to admit, the guy's got a unique taste in clothing.  
Nightcrawler went out the door, heading down the hall. I took the opportunity to peel off my wet shirt and dry myself off as best I could. The bandages were completely soaked, but I managed to squeegee them as dry as they'd get. I slipped the shirt over my head just before he came back with a bundle of clothed I recognized as my own.  
"We're about the same size," I noted. The shirt was a small. He nodded, tossing a pair of my track sweats on the bed. I blinked at them, not looking forward to struggling into anything with legs. When he knelt at my feet, I jumped.  
"Hey-hey-hey," I blurted. "What-are-you-doing?!"  
He looked up at me with those weird yellow eyes. "Getting you out of these wet pants, of course." Oh, hell no. If I'd been able to kick him away, I would have. Instead I had to settle for smacking the back of his head until he backed off.  
"Nothing personal, Nightcrawler," I said.  
"Kurt. Mein name ist Kurt." Lucky for me I understood his German.  
"Fine, Kurt. Go get Lance or Todd or...or...or Wanda. Anyone but you."  
He tilted his head at me and his expression never changed. He didn't argue, though, which was just as well. I didn't know why I was so uncomfortable around him. Maybe it was the fact that it should have been him sitting here with only half a functioning body.  
Maybe it was something else. I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer. Finally, he just darted out the door instead.  
I flopped back on the bed, not caring that I sitting, laying, in a puddle of chlorinated pool water. He'd have to wash his sheets tonight or else they'd be bleached. Oh well. They needed washed anyway. I could see fine blue hairs out of the corner of my eye and could smell him on the sheets. Not that was nasty, just that it was a little strong. He didn't smell...human.  
This line of thought was going to drive me up a wall. Thank God it didn't last long. Lance came into the room a minute later, closing the door firmly behind him.  
"I heard what happened out there," he told me, shaking his head. "We shouldn't have let you go out there alone, but Professor Xavier insisted that you needed a little less noise." He sighed and knelt in front of me. I reached down to unfasten my jeans while he talked. The air was downright chilly in here and I was freezing my - well, I was really cold.  
"It's not your fault," I said as he started tugging the jeans off. "What the hell was up with Daniels anyway? Didn't he notice that big honkin' banner downstairs?"  
That earned a grin from Lance. It was nice to see his face light up like that. It didn't happen often. He looked a lot better when he wasn't acting like a sour grape all the time.  
"Man, you should have heard Summers. The guy reamed Evan a new hole right in front of the entire school." I laughed out loud. "And when HE finished, then Ororo started in on him. You think Summers is a hard guy to cross, you should have seen her." I laughed again. That was true. I'd seen her irritated on more than one occasion when I'd lived in the house next door to the guy back in Queens.  
"Let me guess. She shorted out a light bulb, didn't she?" Lance tossed my wet jeans into a heap in the corner and grabbed a towel. I stopped him. "Wait, turn around will you?" He did. I shucked off the shorts and quickly dried as much of myself as I could reach. Tossing the towel over my waist, I tapped his elbow.  
"Even better," Lance said, turning around and toweling off the rest of me. "Blew out the entire chandelier. Should have seen it, man. Her eyes were glowing white." He started the sweat pants up my legs. "Everyone's hair was standing on edge while she bitched at him."  
I wormed my way awkwardly into the sweat pants and scooted over to a dry spot on the bed. "Serious?"  
He nodded, that wide grin plastered all over his face. He was right; I had missed quite a show. Maybe being tossed in the pool was worth it. I wondered if I could convince Daniels to do it again tomorrow night so I could watch. My eyes glinted and I smirked at the idea.  
"You're trying to think of a way to get him to do it again." It wasn't a question.  
"Yep." We both laughed again. "The more I think about it, the more I think that moving in here might be a little fun after all."  
It was as if I'd just taken a huge burden from his shoulders. He nodded, straightening up just a little.  
"Daniels aside, that is," I added.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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	4. An Unruly Attitude

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
------  
  
I found myself for the second time in as many hours sitting outside watching the stars. Kurt had popped Lance and myself back to the patio and the two of them stayed outside with me for a while. Beat the heck out the party raging inside. The constant hammering of the music just inside the glass doors made me glad I wasn't a telepath.  
It was probably somewhere around midnight when Lance said goodnight and left us by the pool. He wanted to stay, he assured me between yawns, but there was a road trip on the schedule for the next day and a bunch of them had to be up early to get going. Oh well. I assumed I wasn't invited on whatever bonding experience Xavier had planned for his students. Just as well. I wasn't sure I'd be up to the task of being that polite on a four- hour bus trip anyway.  
That left Kurt out there with me in the late summer evening. We didn't talk much, not more than a couple words at a time. The only sounds were the creaking of his deck chair as he shifted around occasionally and the breeze through the trees. I suppose the ocean was relegated to background noise much like the party going on behind us.  
After a while, he stood up. I noticed his tail was twitching like a cat's. Guess this patio furniture hadn't been designed with tails in mind.  
"You still want to see that ocean view, ja?"  
It took a moment to realize he was talking to me. Shows you just how relaxed I was. I'd have to do something about that. If I let my guard down around here, who knows what would happen. Evan would probably pummel me into street pizza, most likely. For now, though, I just wanted to bask in this comfortable mood I had going.  
"Sure," I said, fully expecting to be wrenched across the distance between here and wherever he wanted to go in a heartbeat. Surprise, surprise - he started pushing my wheelchair instead. I wonder if he had as much trouble as I did keeping the impulse to use his powers under control.  
  
We walked along in silence for a few minutes. He did, anyway. I think I squeaked every time the chair hit a rock or dip in the grass. The Doc and Hank seemed to think I was well enough to be up and about, but the truth was I felt like a gigantic bruise. Hopefully it would pass.  
We ended up at the very edge of the yard, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean from the top of a cliff that had to be five hundred feet high. Did he have to park me that close to the edge? I mean, I could almost look straight down the side of the cliff. The rocks at the bottom looked rather menacing from this angle. Maybe this was Xavier's way of getting me out of the way. Just take the trash out to the back yard and toss it over the edge, right?  
Paranoid? Me? Just a little, I guess.  
Kurt settled on the grass a couple feet away and stretched out with a relaxing sigh. My own tension started bleeding away as I took in the scene. The ocean was a glowing cobalt blue just like he'd said earlier and the sound it made when it crashed against the rocks below me was actually sort of soothing. The waves rippled the moonlight, skewing it into strange and interesting angles across the surface. I think I even saw something jump out of the water at one point.  
"Nice." For once my mouth couldn't find the words.  
"Ja." He rolled over on his side to face me and I could see the moon reflecting off his eyes in the dark. "I come out here vhen I vant to get away from the noise. Peaceful, no?"  
"Yeah, tell me about it." He was acting funny, which sort of spoiled the mood. I could feel his eyes on me even after I turned back to the ocean. "If you're going to ask me something, do it."  
I caught his frown out of the corner of my eye and almost regretted my tone. Almost. Being nice to Xavier's brats was a little beyond my capability at the moment. I'd been freakin' broken because of this one. Surely the bald guy wouldn't begrudge me a little attitude as a result.  
"Well?"  
I glanced over at Kurt, who was chewing on a blade of grass. I had to strain to hear him.  
"Vhy? Vhy did you do it?"  
Oh, good. A question I'd been expecting. Too bad I still didn't have a good reason. "I don't know," I said. Lying might have felt good, but I couldn't come up with a good lie, either. I replayed the scene in my mind, scowling at the water below as though the answer would just appear on the surface.  
Father had floated up into the air with the White Queen in that hangar. Once Red had arrived and started breaking his little pig-stickers, it looked like Magneto was going to split. Kurt had been teleporting Logan's bleeding body all over the place to avoid Dad's needles and somehow ended up on top of the little CRJ plane. Dad looked at Logan and gave one of his usual patronizing speeches. Kurt crouched over Logan, putting his body between Dad and Logan. Dad responded by calling a huge, and I mean HUGE, needle into the air and sending it shooting toward them.  
I frowned. I couldn't remember my reasoning at that point. I got a good running start and streaked across the hangar, ignoring the fact that the venom was giving me a migraine and making me twinge. I couple nanoseconds later, I was on the roof of the plane, diving between Dad and Kurt.  
For the briefest of moments, I saw Dad's eyes and his expression was an odd one. It almost looked as though he was going to turn the needle aside at the last moment but then his face went blank and his eyes narrowed. And that's when the hypodermic skewered me.  
I found my hands twitching over the bandage under the gaudy shirt I was wearing and forced them to be still. Mustn't look weak in front of the X-Geeks.  
"You don't know?" Kurt asked.  
I tried meeting his eyes, but found myself looking away quickly.  
"No, I don't." I looked out at the ocean, wishing he would stop looking at me like that. His expression was unnerving. "Why do you care, anyway? Why didn't you just pop yourself out of there?" There. I'd make him start answering the awkward questions. No reason I should be the only uncomfortable one around here.  
"I couldn't 'port anymore. No more," he paused, thinking, "juice."  
Interesting way of putting it. "You ran out of gas?"  
"Uh-huh."  
I couldn't help snickering. I'd file that little tidbit away until I needed it. Never knew when I'd need to use his weaknesses against him. I shook my head. There I sat, dependent on other people for the simplest things and I was already making plans to get out of Dodge. That just wasn't right. A very, very tiny voice inside me kept saying I owed these people for helping me out. Maybe if I concentrated enough, I could make it go away.  
"You didn't answer my other question," I said into the night.  
"I know. I'm trying to think of an answer."  
"Don't hurt yourself."  
"Ha. Ha, ha, ha. You should go on Letterman." The serious tone brought me up short and I peered at him out of the corner of me eye. He just shook his head and grinned at me. "Seriously, I do not know why I care." The smile faded. "If you hadn't been there, it vould be me in that that chair or lying dead on the floor of an airplane garage out in the middle of nowhere."  
Couldn't argue with that logic. He shrugged, twirling his blade of grass between his fingers.  
"You know," he said suddenly. "Ve have a lot more in common than you think, Pietro."  
What? I had to stretch, but I managed to lean out of my seat and tug on his fur. Incidentally, it felt like brushed silk. Wow. "Obviously not this," I said. He carefully but firmly removed my hand from his shoulder and smoothed his fur back into place.  
"Nein, not that. But ve both have a sister that doesn't get along with us. Ve both have a parent who hates us." He slapped his tail against my wheelchair. "Ve both do not want to be seen out in public as we are."  
I opened my mouth to correct him, but closed it without a sound. He had a good point. I didn't know about him, but Wanda and I had a very contentious relationship. Don't get me wrong. My sister and I love one another a great deal.  
We just don't like each other very much.  
I guess I could see parallels between Magneto and Mystique, though I thought I had the bitter end of the stick with that deal. At least his mother doesn't go around hatching plans for world domination and trying to kill him with oversized medical supplies. This wasn't the first time Dad had tried to off me. Just his most successful.  
As for the wheelchair, he was also right. I wouldn't get nearly the same amount of stares that he would if he went outside without his little hologram thingy. Still, I've seen how disabled people tend to be treated in the real world and I didn't look forward to dealing with that. It's not like my arms didn't work or that my brain was affected. I just couldn't walk for a while. It didn't mean that people had to pretend I was a small child or something, yet I knew that would happen.  
I sighed. "What's your point, then? You want to start a club for freaks and cripples? Some sort of support group for the screwed-up people of the world?" I laughed bitterly. "You are such a bleeding heart sometimes, it makes me sick."  
"No, I mean..." Oh no. He wasn't going to interrupt me now. I was just getting warmed up.  
Something in his face made me snap. I shook my head. "Face it, Kurt. One of these days - not tomorrow, not next month, but someday - I'm going to get up out of this damn chair and walk away from Xavier's little dream of peace, love, harmony and whatever else he's selling and you'll still be a blue-haired freak of nature who can't even go out the front door of that mansion over there without the mailman fainting dead away from shock." I took a deep breath and dove ahead, ignoring the hurt look on his face. "I- don't-need-your-pity-or-your-concern-thank-you-very-much. So-why- don't-you- tell-me-what-you're-really-after-and-then-go-away?" I'd let my control slip toward the end and the words had come out in a bit of a rush, but I was positive that he'd probably understood.  
When Kurt didn't answer I twisted around and glared at him. He was just sitting there with his legs crossed, looking down at his lap. His tail twitched violently behind him, cutting a deadly swath through the dandelions that covered the back lawn. Maybe I'd laid it on a little too thick, because I could see the tension in him. He looked like a coiled spring. Well, ok, a fuzzy, blue, coiled spring. And would you believe his fur was standing on edge like someone had rubbed him the wrong way?  
Ha, ha. Get it? Rubbed him the...never mind.  
We sat like that for a couple minutes at least. I just glared at the top of his head, which was all I could see, and he did the same to the ground on which he was sitting. Took me the entire time to realize he was muttering something under his breath.  
"Oh, for crying out loud. At least talk so I can hear you," I barked. Oops. My mouth seemed to have sprinted ahead of the rest of me. Yet again. He stood, rather gracefully for someone quite obviously cranky, and leaned over me.  
I decided then and there to make an effort to learn German. Oh, it wouldn't help me out now but maybe if he bit my head off like this in the future, I'd at least be able to keep up with him.  
"Ich wünschst du nicht den Schmerz glauben! Ich wünschst du würde lächeln häufig! [1]" He paused. "Ich dachte, daß wir Freunde sein könnten. Ich wurde verwechselt. [2]" He shot me a really dirty look. "Du Bumser. [3]"  
[Bamf!]  
I blinked away the smoke, wrinkling my nose at the faint smell of rotten eggs and looked around. Kurt was nowhere to be seen. Good. Maybe he'd just leave me alone.  
Alone. Oh no. I looked around wildly, but the mansion was a couple hundred feet away. I couldn't even hear the party from this distance. Nice going, Pietro.  
"SHIT!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. No point in being nice about it. I didn't look forward to spending the night out here. Sure the view was terrific, but the sea breeze was starting to cut into me. Someone had to hear me, even from this distance. Hopefully.  
  
Waking up disoriented was getting to be a habit I could live without. It took several minutes to realize I wasn't in the basement anymore. I was on my side in a huge bed. The sunlight filtering through the gauzy curtains behind me was a big tip-off that I wasn't in that little hole-in- the-wall that passed for a hospital at the Institute. The room looked vaguely familiar. Really big bed, desk, dresser. One of those standalone closet things. I was reminded, believe it or not, of a hotel room.  
I struggled into a sitting position and rubbed my eyes. Surprisingly, I didn't ache nearly as much this morning. This made me suspicious, of course. How long was I out this time? I stretched, yawning, and noticed I was wearing that same silly t-shirt with the demon on it. Ah, good. Only one night this time. I looked around for a clock and was surprised to see Summers slumped in a chair by the side of the bed.  
"Well, well, well," I muttered. "I rate a babysitter now." If I'd had the use of my legs, I'd have kicked him awake just out of spite. Scott- baiting was a favorite pastime of mine. As it was, I had to settle for tossing a pillow at him. Amazing how he could possibly sleep not only while sitting ramrod-straight, but with those ridiculous shades on.  
"Mmph?" He yawned. It was contagious. "Oh. Good morning, Pietro."  
I finally found the clock. 10:46 am. "Yeah, barely."  
"Ready to face the day?" Jeez, how can anyone be that perky and not explode?  
"Depends. How long am I stuck with a chaperone?"  
His face sort of froze between a frown and a smile. I could tell his eyes narrowed behind his glasses. Call it a hunch. He gave me one of those looks, as though unsure if I was joking or being a smart-ass. A month ago I'd have put money on the latter, but I seem to have mellowed somewhat. I shot a huge cheesy grin his way and his face finally settled on a smirk.  
"All day. Doctor MacTaggart wants one of us to be with you at all times."  
"One of who?"  
He shrugged and stood. "Anyone, actually. She's not picky." He shook his head. "I don't think she's worried about anything in particular."  
Well, that was good. "So what's first on my schedule for today? A light jog around the track in the park? Maybe one of your Danger Room sessions? Oh, I know. Isn't the Boston Marathon coming up?" Whoops. Hey, it's hard not to be a wise-ass around Summers. He needs to loosen up. Give me a little room to work with here. I cut him off before he could speak. "Sorry. This is just going to take a lot of getting used to."  
He cocked his head to one side and I really wished I could see what was going on behind those specs of his. Nothing says 'impersonal' like a pair of sunglasses you can't see through.  
"You want to talk about it?" I looked down at my hands, suddenly embarrassed.  
"No," I mumbled. I concentrated on the pattern of the quilt lying on the bed, hoping he'd get the hint. Instead, I felt the bed move as he sat down. He pulled one leg up and hugged it, rocking slightly back and forth.  
"You sure?" Mental head slap. I was chatting with Summers. Of course he wouldn't get the hint. Stating the obvious is a good routine to stick to when dealing with him.  
"Look, I've had less than a day to get used to the idea that I'll be stuck in a chair for God only knows how long. I haven't exactly accepted it as fact yet. I just can't wrap my mind around that, that," I waved a hand at the offending wheelchair, "thing. I'm having a hell of a time not cringing every time I look down at myself or imagine myself at Bayside in that chair." I risked a glance up at Summers, wondering if I could ask Professor Xavier for another...what, nurse? Sitter? Companion. Yeah, that'd work.  
This one was a dolt.  
"I know you haven't had much time to accept your...situation." Well, ok. Maybe he wasn't quite as dumb as he looked. "We want you to know that if you ever need to talk about it - or anything else - to let us know." That got my attention.  
"Who's we?"  
"Jean, Ororo, the Professor, myself." He started ticking off names on his fingers. "Alex, Kitty, Doug, Sam, Amara, Ray. Mr. Cassidy, Mr. McCoy, and Doctor MacTaggart, of course. Oh, and Rahne wanted me to add that she thinks you're pretty cute."  
I jerked my head up.  
"What?"  
"Just kidding." Wait a minute. Stick-Boy had a sense of humor? "But I know she likes you."  
"Oh." I snickered. The little Scottish girl hadn't really shown up on my radar. Yet. "I don't know a couple of those, but I notice you left a few people off that list." I folded my hands behind my head and leaned back against the headboard. "Logan, for instance."  
Summers snorted. It sounded odd coming from him. "Logan doesn't let anyone get close to him."  
"Yeah, he doesn't strike me as the touchy-feely type," I said with a shrug. "Evan's a jerk, so I didn't expect anything from him. Wanda and I don't get along even on the best of days."  
"Yep. You can add Kurt to your 'no-talk' list, too. He's a little upset for some reason." He raised his eyebrows behind those red specs of his. "No idea why."  
I cleared my throat and looked away. "Me neither."  
There was a long, drawn-out pause.  
"And Bobby's still out of action." I looked blank for a moment. Oh, he meant Iceman. I sort of remembered him going down during the fight in Colorado.  
"So pretty much everyone is welcoming me into your little club." I didn't make it a question. In fact, it came out pretty tonelessly. It would take a while to get used to being around Summers and his housemates. Particularly since I'd been on the outside looking in for the past year or so.  
Summers patted my leg and once again I was creeped out by the fact that I could see the action just fine, but couldn't feel even the slightest twinge. Then he smiled, plastering a huge grin on his face. I must have been a real jerk in a past life or something. Karmic turnaround is a real pain, you know? I couldn't think of any other reason I'd been stuck with Mr. Cheerful.  
"Yep. So, let's get you up and about, shall we?" He stood again and started rummaging through the dresser drawer. After a moment of pawing through my clothing, he scratched his head. "Maybe I'm just not seeing it. Don't you own shirts that aren't black?" I like the way I look in black. It brings out the blue highlights in my skin and makes for a nice contrast with my feathery-white hair.  
All right, so I'm fashion-conscious. Sue me.  
"What is this, 'One-Eye for the Straight Guy'? Just give me some clothes and get out of here."  
He tossed a couple items on the bed next to me. "You don't need help?"  
I had the distinct feeling I was going to have to explain this to him all day.  
"I'm not a vegetable, Summers. I think I can still dress myself," I sneered. Then, just to tweak his lofty do-gooder attitude a bit more, I added: "But if you're really good, I'll let you spoon-feed me and hold my..."  
He held up his hands and backed toward the door. "All right, all right, I get it."  
"...while I take a leak." He rolled his eyes. Don't ask me how I knew.  
"Give me a holler when you're done. How'd you like a tour of the place?"  
"Sounds like fun," I said. Maybe they had a video game room in this castle they called home. If I couldn't be outside running, perhaps I could get around to beating Zelda again. All in all, the day wasn't looking too shabby. Except for Summers, but I had the feeling that I'd have a lot of fun with him today. Too bad he wouldn't be able to appreciate it.  
I chuckled as he went out the door. Oh yeah. This was going to be fun.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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Translations:  
  
[1]: "Maybe I wish you to stop hurting! Maybe I wish you would smile more!"  
  
[2]: "I thought we could be friends. I was wrong."  
  
[3]: "You f----r." 


	5. An Odd Conversation

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
------  
  
"This place is empty," I said as Summers wheeled me down the hall. I'd declined his offer of a sponge bath. That was just too weird to even consider. I'd figure out how to bathe later. I think he may have been relieved, too, so it was a win-win situation.  
"Mr. Cassidy took a group to MOMA [1] in the City for some sort of Celtic Art exhibition," he said brightly. "Ororo and a bunch of others are on the road to Albany for some history display at the museum there."  
"Sounds like fun. Guess we have the place to ourselves, eh? Whatever shall we do?"  
He laughed. "Not exactly. Doctor MacTaggart is around somewhere and so is the Professor. He wants you to stop by his study for lunch." He paused. "I think Kurt is hanging around somewhere, too."  
I ignored that last bit.  
I'm sure Xavier wanted me to go into therapy with himself as the shrink. Food was just a clever distraction. I hoped he didn't expect me to just open up and pour my thoughts and feelings out for him to examine in detail. I'm not the most social of people when it comes to talking about what's actually going on inside me. I don't like opening up because that always gives the other person a hold on me.  
"But I promised to show you around the mansion," Summers went on. In actuality, I'd seen a pretty good portion of it when I'd been here before the trip to Colorado. In fact, people had pretty much left me alone for those couple of days and I'd had plenty of time to explore. I imagined there were probably a lot of secrets left, but this guy was going to put me to sleep if he was going to go over the mundane aspects of it.  
I wanted to see the cool airplane they had, for one. And that super- computer Red always referred to as Cerebro. The dining room, while important in its own right, just didn't have the same excitement factor.  
We stopped at the top of that grand staircase in the foyer then Summers turned us around. "I think someone mentioned you're a video game freak. We've got a pretty extensive collection in the rec room." He started pushing me down the hall, back the way we'd come. I didn't object. The longer he took giving me the grand tour, the longer I could put off talking to Xavier.  
Whoever told him about my passion for video games wasn't joking, either. We hadn't had a console system at the Brotherhood house so I'd usually spend my spare time knocking over pay telephones and taking the quarters to the mall arcade. Gave me something to do on rainy days, you know? I wondered if my record on Mortal Kombat had been beaten yet.  
The recreation room, it turned out, was a long room at the end of the hall. French windows on the wall opposite the door overlooked the wide expanse of the backyard, letting sunlight stream into the room. Bookshelves lined the other walls along. There was various furniture scattered about as well, which made sense. I tried to imagine this place filled with Xavier's students. Yeah, I could see why there was a lot of seating in here.  
There was a pool table at one end of the room next to a smaller snooker table. The other end was anchored by the biggest and most elaborate home entertainment system I'd ever seen. I was pretty sure that the television alone was taller than I was, had I been standing. In between were more tables - gaming and otherwise - as well as a couple of those dainty little chess tables. I wondered who played chess. Summers, maybe. I looked around the room, a low whistle streaming through my teeth.  
"Wow.  
I felt Summers' hand on my shoulder. "Think you could find something to distract yourself with in here?"  
"Oh, hell yeah." I looked a little closer at the entertainment center. "Is that an Xbox?" I couldn't help snickering when I said it. Figured that the X-Men would have that particular console.  
He looked over. "I think so. I don't play with it that much."  
"Dude, if you guys have Tao Feng, I think I could find something to keep myself occupied."  
He laughed then, a rich and clear sound, and it made my skin crawl. I didn't deal with perkiness that well. Probably had something to do with the disaster also known as 'my life to this point.' I opened my mouth to make a snide comment and decided against it. Summers had too hard a shell to crack with just one remark. Instead, I said: "So how about that lunch?"  
"Sure, not a problem." He took hold of my chair again and we started down the hall. He herded us straight toward the grand staircase and I had a thought. It occurred to me that the elevator seemed to be restricted to the underground levels. He confirmed my suspicions at the head of the stairs.  
I'd like to point out at this point that there is a reason I'm a slender guy. My metabolism, much like every other part of my body (don't go there, please), operates at an accelerated rate. I don't eat like a bird - I eat like a cow, and yet it doesn't stick to me. Lance had the idea of counting my average caloric intake for a week and the number broke twenty thousand in less than four days. I didn't gain a single pound. In fact, I think I may have lost one. My point is that my girlish figure, for lack of a better term, makes me easy prey for pretty much everyone strong enough to lift a cinder block.  
Anyway, Summers proceeded to lift me out of the chair without so much as grunting. He looked down at the chair and for a fleeting moment I seriously thought he was just going to toss me over his shoulder and grab the thing with a free hand. Luckily, he decided against it. The guy made two trips down the stairs, setting me down on the bottom step before going back up.  
I suddenly had the urge to try to stand for some reason. Call me stupid, and I know you probably are, but I had to see if I could at least get myself vertical again. So while he was on his way back up, I grabbed the banister with both hands and heaved. Sure, I may have lifted an inch or two off the ground, but that was about it. Let's just say my upper-body strength at that point pretty much sucked.  
"What are you doing? You'll hurt yourself," I heard Summers say from above me. I let go the banister and tipped my head back. He'd been standing right behind me, so it wasn't hard to find him. I shrugged.  
"I was just seeing if I could move on my own, Slim," I sighed. That the experiment had been a failure hung in the air between us. He just shook his head and echoed my sigh. A couple light steps later, he set the chair down on the marble floor and sat down beside me on the step.  
"Look, Pietro," he said and I mentally rolled my eyes. Great, just great. Wasn't one lecture from this stick-in-the-mud enough for one day? I didn't say that out loud, of course. I wasn't really in the mood to hear both a third lecture. I realized I had been lost in my thoughts because he tipped his head and looked a little closer at me. "You're not going to listen to me." He didn't ask, just assumed.  
"Just say what you're going to say, Scott, and get it over with would you?" His eyebrows shot up above his red shades. When he didn't say anything further, I poked him in the chest. "Well?"  
"When was the last time you called me 'Scott'?" he asked with that surprised look still on his face. That was a good question, actually. I didn't think I'd ever done that before, actually. I mean, I practically had to fight down the urge to call him Mr. Summers most of the time because he acted more mature than most adults in my life. I just looked at him helplessly.  
"Never mind, it's not important." Oh, but if the look on his face was any indication, it was. "Come on," he said, lifting me into the chair again. "If you don't show up for lunch with the Professor, he'll probably think I'm deliberately trying to starve you."  
I didn't have a ready-made piece of wit with which to respond. Instead, I kept my mouth shut and just let him wheel me into Xavier's office. Turned out it was just a couple rooms away from the lobby, through a large, bare room with empty bookshelves.  
The old man was reading through a folder of something when we entered and didn't even look up at first. I'd never been in his office before, so I took a moment to look around. Shelves like the ones in the outer office lined the walls, filled with lots of leather-bound books. Odds and ends dotted the shelves, breaking up the dull brown monotony. There was, for example, a piece of stone at about my eye level and just close enough to pick up. It was smooth and grey on the bottom, but the top was studded with little reddish-pink crystals. I tilted it back and forth in the light, watching the crystals glitter as the sunlight suffused them with a warm glow. Interesting.  
I set the stone back on the shelf, looking at the rest of the strange items. There were feathers in colors I'd never seen before arranged in a jar on one shelf. Pictures in small frames took up some of the space. Bits of stone and chunks of metal ore were the overwhelming majority, though. Maybe the guy collected rocks. I heard a shuffle of paper from Xavier's direction and turned as he closed the folder he'd been reading.  
"As a matter of fact, I do," he said. I looked blankly at him until I realized he'd been reading my mind. I felt myself start to blush. He went on as though he hadn't noticed: "I dreamt of becoming a geologist in my youth." He gestured for me to hand him the crystal I'd picked up earlier.  
"This, for example," he said, turning it in his hands, "is a chunk of amethyst geode, which is a type of quartz. Your father found it while we were out spelunking during spring break nearly twenty years ago." My eyes widened as he mentioned Dad, but I looked away before he noticed. I concentrated on controlling the blush instead, but probably wasn't successful at that either.  
"Can we talk about something else, maybe?" I muttered.  
He set the rock down on his desk and folded his hands. Summers walked back in at that point with a large tray. Typical luncheon fare. Salads, fresh bread. A couple covered plates that really smelled delicious. A bottle of ginger ale for me; water for him. Neither of us said anything while Summers set it down on the desk.  
"Need anything else, Professor?" he asked. Maybe he got merit points or something for sucking up.  
"No, thank you Scott. Would you please close the door behind you, though?"  
"Sure."  
The door closed behind him. It made a very heavy noise and I felt like my fate had been sealed. If Xavier started talking about Magneto, I'd be stuck there listening to him. I looked up to see the guy looking at me, a faint smile playing across his face. It occurred to me that he'd probably been reading my mind.  
Xavier arched an eyebrow at me. Jeez! Having a telepath in the house was downright creepy sometimes. I hated it when he or Red poked around in my mind.  
"I should have remembered that, Pietro," he said with that almost- smile still in place. He passed a salad plate to me as well as a bottle of bleu cheese dressing. I didn't bother asking how he knew what I liked on my salads.  
"Remembered what?" I asked, shaking the bottle. He pulled the covers off each of the plates and my mouth started watering in earnest. At the risk of sounding like I think with my stomach, I'll admit that I can be bought for a good Reuben if it's been prepared right. This one had.  
He took a bite of salad, swallowing before speaking. He'd read my mind without thinking twice - no pun intended - but his table manners were excruciatingly formal. I actually moved my elbow off the desk rather than offend his sensibilities.  
"I seem to recall a trip to Central Park during which Wanda's favorite doll got lost for over an hour," he said. I frowned, trying to figure out what he was talking about. I'd been to Central Park hundreds of times when I was small. Father seemed to enjoy taking us there for some reason. I hadn't thought about that in years, but after a moment it hit me. I nodded slowly.  
"Oh yeah. You picked my brain and told her where I hid the darn thing."  
His face lit up like a Christmas tree and it changed his entire demeanor. He looked like a truly different person. He looked like the person I remembered from so long ago. Only with less hair.  
"That's right," he said. "You and your sister didn't speak for a week."  
I washed down a mouthful of salad. "Is that why we're having this lunch date? You want to talk about the past?" I had a sneaking suspicion that this was indeed the case and my heart sank. I was having a hard enough time dealing with the present. The last thing I wanted was to dredge up old memories of...before.  
To my surprise, he shrugged. "Not if you don't feel comfortable, Pietro."  
We ate in silence for a few minutes.  
"So what are we here for?"  
He pushed his plate aside and picked up the folder he'd been reading when I'd come in.  
"There are a couple items that you need to consider before too much longer. Principal Kelly has been informed of your injury, though not of its source. He's sent a letter requesting that I inform him of my intention regarding your junior year."  
I blinked. "I don't get it."  
"He wants to know if you're going to be going to Bayside or if you'll be schooled here at the Institute," he said. Oh. Yeah, that was a hard decision to make. On the one hand, taking classes here would relieve me of having to deal with the scorn and derision my physical status would bring up at the public high school. On the other hand, if I spent all my time in this place, I'd probably go nuts. I hesitated for an instant.  
"Uh," I said. There's that eloquence again. "Bayside, I guess."  
He didn't argue. "All right, I'll let him know. Getting you to and from school will not be a problem. Both Jean and Scott drive to school already." His brow furrowed and he frowned. "Kurt also has a permit, as he keeps reminding us, but I'd recommend riding with one of the less...impulsive...students instead."  
"I'll keep that in mind." The little blue guy was probably going to hold a grudge all year, so I didn't think I had to worry about getting killed by his driving any time soon.  
"Now," he went on, "there's also the matter of your interaction with my other students."  
I paused in the middle of taking a huge bite from the Reuben and my stomach growled in protest.  
"What do you mean?" I asked cautiously. I was rewarded with a stern look that looked hauntingly familiar.  
"I think you know what I mean."  
I made a production out of chewing, just to give me time to think of a safe answer. Couldn't come up with one. There are days when I wonder if people deliberately in cryptic phrases or if I'm just that dense. This wasn't one of them. I finally settled for telling him what he wanted to hear.  
"You mean my attitude."  
"Yes, I do." I suddenly realized where Kurt learned that piercing stare and squirmed in my seat. No mean trick for someone who couldn't feel his most of his backside.  
"You want me to be nicer to Summers and the rest," I said flatly. Then I laughed. "Man, you don't want much, do you?"  
Xavier ignored my sarcasm. "I don't think it's too much, do you?"  
"Don't make me answer that. You saw how nice I was being to Summers already, didn't you?" I mean, come on. If he kept a mental eye on me all morning, he had to know that I'd been pretty good. A note of disapproval chimed in my head. Actually, I'd already mouthed off to the guy several times and we hadn't even been awake all that long. And that was just what I'd said out loud. "All right," I grudgingly admitted, "I'll try to be more pleasant." As he started to nod, I hastily added: "But only if he does the same." His eyebrows went up.  
"He's a poster boy for the Boy Scouts," I said.  
"Eagle Scout, actually."  
"What?"  
"He's been an Eagle Scout for almost a year now."  
Boy, that explained a lot. "His self-righteous attitude drives me up a wall, man. Can't he just tone it down a little?"  
"If you really wish, I'll ask him to be a little more abrasive in your presence." Xavier actually smirked at me. "If it would make you more comfortable, that is."  
I let that slide.  
"All right, all right, I promise I'll do my best to be his buddy." Tell the man what he wants to hear, Pietro, just get him off the subject. Didn't he know when to quit?  
"And Kitty?" Apparently not. I blushed again and had to swallow a curse. "And Kurt?"  
"All right already!" I snapped. "I said I'd be good. Quit pushing me."  
He sat back in his chair, resting his chin on steepled fingers and locking eyes with me. I was getting a little tired of people staring at me like I was some kind of zoo animal. Promises aside, I'd bite the head off the next person who gave me any sort of look. Maybe that's what it would take.  
After a while, I just couldn't take his eyes on me any longer and I looked away.  
"Pietro," he said quietly.  
"What is it now?" As soon as the words slid past my lips, I regretted my tone. My lunch lay in my stomach like a lead weight. I was seriously entertaining the notion of flinging myself out of the chair and crawling under a rock somewhere.  
"All things considered I think your 'attitude,' as you put it, is perfectly understandable. In fact, I've already asked my students to be more considerate of your feelings." He leaned forward. I dragged my eyes back to him, though I didn't meet his gaze. I settled for staring at his nose instead. "You're going through a rough time, Pietro, and being angry isn't going to help your recovery."  
I laughed and it sounded forced, even to my own ears. "Just angry?"  
He smiled slightly. "Would you rather I added: sullen, arrogant, irritable, moody, thin-skinned, and downright rude most of the time?"  
"Not particularly, no.  
"Then I won't." He sighed. "We're all going to have to adjust to the new...situation...around here. I don't expect you to change overnight, but I do expect a solid effort on your part. Can you do that much for me?"  
I nodded, but we were interrupted before I could say anything. The office door swung open and I shot a look in that direction on instinct. Kurt was framed in the doorway, tail twitching with a mind of its own. He started to say something to Xavier and the words died on his lips as he caught sight of me. His expression went carefully blank and his eyes unfocused, as though he was seeing or listening to something I couldn't hear. A moment later, I understood.  
'Good. Then you can start by apologizing to Kurt.'  
I glared at my godfather. You've got to be kidding me, I thought really loud. Can't we start with something easier? If he heard my attempt at mental communication, it didn't show.  
'As I recall, he wants to go to the mall to pick up some school clothes. This would be a good chance for you to get some fresh air, I think.'  
I sighed and exchanged a resigned look with the blue guy. Clearly he was as unhappy with Xavier's manipulative tactics as I was. He didn't argue, though, just stalked into the room and wrapped his hands around the handles of my chair.  
"If ve're going, ve'd better leave now," he grumped. I poured everything I had into a last pleading look at Xavier. It didn't work. The man just smiled at us both as we left.  
"Thanks a whole bunch, Uncle Charles," I muttered darkly as Kurt wheeled me through the mansion. I heard him snort behind me.  
"On that ve agree. Danke schön, mein Herr. [2]"  
I didn't say another word.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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[1]: MOMA, the Museum of Modern Art, is a world-class gallery on Manhattan in New York. No visit to the City is complete without visiting it, I promise you.  
  
[2]: "Thank you very much, sir." 


	6. A Startling Complication

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please. Comments on the reviews up to this point are at the bottom of this page.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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Kurt was silent as he pushed me along. Considering Xavier's heavy- handed way of dealing with our mutual animosity, I really couldn't blame him. Maybe I'd get lucky and the blue guy would be pissed at the Professor instead. Hey, a man can dream. Can't he?  
The silence grew thicker as we entered the garage. Kurt brushed past me to switch on the light and I saw a decidedly unhappy look on his face. His eyes caught mine for a moment, before he looked away. Nope. He was pissed at me and me alone. I sighed inwardly. If one of us didn't budge, this was going to be a long afternoon.  
Unfortunately, I had a stubborn streak a mile wide at that point in my life. I had no intention of saying a word to Kurt, for fear he'd see it as a sign of weakness. He'd pushed just as much as I had, hadn't he? If he wanted to give me the silent treatment, I'd give as well as I got.  
There were perhaps a half-dozen vehicles in the garage. A slick motorcycle, heavy on the chrome, stood a ways apart from the assortment of cars and vans. I'd have to guess it belonged to Logan. Of all the people at the Institute, he was the only one that struck me as having a biker mentality.  
What really caught my eye was a 1939 Cadillac V-8 Limousine [1] in gorgeous condition. The tan-and-black body was lovingly waxed to the point where the overhead lights made it gleam. Dark tinted windows hid the interior, but I'd have guessed it was probably done in tan leather. Even the fenders were immaculate. It fairly oozed power and grace even while parked and shut down.  
All right, so I'm a classic automobile freak. So what?  
I hoped that maybe we'd take that car to the mall, but we headed for the Shelby Cobra [2] sitting next to it instead. Not that I was complaining or anything. Number one, it was a sweet little car in pristine condition. Number two, it belonged to Summers so I wouldn't feel too bad if it got scratched. By accident, of course.  
For a guy who wasn't speaking to me, Kurt was surprisingly gentle as he wrestled me out of the chair and into Summers' roadster. I think most of the struggle had to do with the fact that he's only slightly larger than I am. Still, he managed to get me into the car with a minimum of fuss. The wheelchair, I noticed, stayed behind. It wouldn't fit into the trunk and I assumed they had wheelchairs at the mall. Either that or he was planning to leave me in the car while he did his shopping.  
I cast a final, longing look toward the Cadillac as Kurt pulled the ignition cap off and started fiddling with some wires. After a moment, the strangeness of his act finally hit me.  
"Wait a sec. What are you doing?"  
"Starting the car, of course," he replied, his attention on the wiring.  
"You're hot-wiring Summers' car?" I couldn't help but grin. It just seemed poetic somehow. Despite his assurances, Summers and I didn't really get along - and now Kurt was stealing his car for a joyride to the mall. I folded my arms behind my head and leaned back into the bucket seat, enjoying this for all it was worth.  
"Is that vhat you call it?" The engine finally caught and it roared to life. "Hot-viring," Kurt said to himself, almost as though he was testing the phrase. It occurred to me that he didn't speak English as his primary language. A moment later, the ignition cap was back in place.  
He buckled his seat belt and waited for me to do the same. With a final poke to his hologram thingy, he shimmered into his somewhat bland false identity. And then we took off.  
I really can't describe the thrill of riding in a car with someone who'd apparently never heard of the phrases 'pile-up' or 'totaled' or especially 'full-body cast.' He just put the car in gear and accelerated to about mach three. It did strike me as odd that he hadn't been jailed for the way he was driving yet. It was almost liberating, in a bizarre sense of the word.  
I rested secure in the knowledge that, if anything did happen to us, the speed at which Kurt was driving pretty much ensured there wouldn't be enough left of the two of us to fill a sandwich baggie. Therefore I didn't have to worry about Xavier or Summers yelling at me.  
Speaking of which, I do seem to recall a surprised shout somewhere behind us as we sped toward the front gate and freedom. A quick glance over my shoulder was enough to see that ol' One-Eye had seen us. Luckily, we both could pretend that we couldn't hear him over the noise of the engine. For a fleeting moment I was worried that he'd give us a blast or try to stop us. Then I realized that he liked his car more than the thought of taking us to task and relaxed.  
Needless to say, we arrived at the Bayside Galleria less than five minutes later. By a stroke of luck, we hadn't been pulled over either.  
Kurt pulled right up into the no-parking zone at the curb and disappeared through the front doors. For obvious reasons, he left the engine running. I started to have misgivings at that point. School was just around the corner and I was sure that some of our classmates would probably be inside. What would they say when they saw me? How would they react? I'd been a more or less popular guy - especially with the girls - but disabled people weren't exactly on the Bayside High hit parade, you know. I really wanted to go back to the Institute. That's irony for you.  
I sat there, bathed in a cold sweat, forever. By the time Kurt came back with one of those rickety mall wheelchairs, I'd had to concentrate on not hyperventilating. My hands were gripping the dashboard with enough intensity to leave impressions in the vinyl. Apparently it was noticeable, because for the past minute or two a security guard had been keeping an eye on me. I guess I did look a little suspicious.  
Kurt opened the door and we did the whole wrestling thing to get me into the borrowed chair. It was noticeably less comfortable than the one back in the garage but I didn't have any room to complain, I suppose. I watched as Kurt pulled into a parking spot at a more mundane pace than before. He fiddled with the ignition again while I waited. I could tell he'd done this a number of times in the past, because I wasn't kept waiting long.  
The air in the Galleria was cool and dry, a nice contrast with the sweltering humidity outside. It hadn't been noticeable while driving with the blue Dale Earnhardt who was humming under his breath behind me but it was late August, after all.  
The mall is one of those that, for lack of space, are built up rather than out. There are four floors of shops, services and boutiques topped by a sunroof that ran the entire length of the huge building. We stopped just inside the door and I heard Kurt fumbling with a piece of paper. It dropped into my lap a moment later.  
"Hold onto that, bitte," he said. I glanced at the paper and found myself looking at a shopping list. How fun. I narrowed my eyes. It listed a huge number of stores, including some that catered to the, ah, opposite sex.  
"Uh, Kurt," I said as we started rolling toward the elevator over near the fountain. "Is there something you want to tell me?"  
"Such as?" he asked guardedly.  
"Such as the reason we're going into Victoria's Secret?"  
We stopped. "Vhat?" The paper was plucked from my hands. I could hear him muttering above me, and craned my neck around to look. He'd produced a pencil from somewhere and was busy scratching out a few items on the list. "Verdammen Sie, Jean," he grumbled. At my bemused look, he explained: "Rahne's birthday is next Tuesday and I asked Jean for places to buy her a gift. I vasn't expecting...that."  
He handed me the considerably-shortened list and we got moving again. Rahne had a birthday coming up; that was news to me. Summers had let it slip that she sort of liked me, so maybe I should pick up something while I was here. Might as well get on someone's good side, you know? Come to think of it, I had to pick up my own school supplies while I was here. I reached for my wallet, mentally cringing.  
As expected, the money pit was dry at the moment. I pawed through the wallet, checking every pocket, but came up nearly dry. I had exactly a dollar to my name and that was an old silver dollar I wasn't keen on spending. It was one of the old ones with the standing Liberty on the front, but the date was worn off. It had belonged to Dad once upon a time and I didn't quite remember why I kept it around. Aside from that coin, the wallet was empty but for my state and school ID cards and a smattering of photographs and business cards.  
"Crap," I muttered. I'd have to find a way to get a hold of some cash. Maybe I could hit Lance up for a loan when he got back. He was probably nearly as broke as I was but it was worth a shot. The elevator chimed pleasantly, breaking into my thoughts. We stepped off onto the fourth balcony. I could tell, because all the really expensive stores were on this level. No matter how many shopping malls I visit, they good stuff is always the hardest to get to. The Mont Blanc specialty shop, for example, which was just beyond the window.  
"Ve'll vork our vay down from the top," Kurt said. His voice trailed off. I knew he was looking at my and my wallet. I stuffed it back into my pocket and gripped the armrests.  
"By all means, sport. Just push me in the right direction."  
Instead of doing so, he pulled us out of the way and pulled out his own wallet. Don't! I wanted to scream. I don't want your charity! It's bad enough that I have to deal with Xavier's! To my surprise, however, he handed me a piece of plastic instead.  
"What's this?" I looked at the card. Had to admit, I was impressed. It's not every day you see the most elite of credit cards, much less actually handle one. I tried to hand it back to Kurt, but he wouldn't take it. He tapped one longer finger (pair of fingers, actually, because his hologram was good but not that good) on the Carte Blanche and I took a closer look.  
Whoa.  
"You've got to be kidding me," I said in a hushed tone. If he was, it was a pretty neat trick, because not many people manage to spell my name right. He handed me his own card and I compared the two. Same card number on both, no surprise there, and the phrase 'Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters' on the line below our names. Oh, all right, now I got it. Apparently we had a credit line for our personal use. I wondered where Xavier got the money to handle that, considering there were like a dozen kids at his place.  
"No kidding," Kurt said as he took his card back. I put mine into my own wallet, which seemed weightier somehow. "There is a five-hundred- dollar limit for each transaction, but the Professor doesn't seem to care what you put on it." I felt him shrug as we started moving again. "Scott asked him von time how ve vould pay him back, the Professor that is. Professor Xavier just smiled at him and told him not to worry about it.  
"So I could buy Rahne a birthday present with this card?" I blurted without thinking. Whoops. There was a pause before Kurt answered.  
"If...you...vish," he said carefully, his voice somewhat strained. We turned into the Mont Blanc store. It was a hole-in-the-wall store filled to the brim with the most expensive writing utensils on the planet. I know this because I swiped one once and auctioned it off online. The bidding passed three grand before it sold. I gave Kurt a curious look as he wheeled us to a low-set display case.  
"She likes to write," he explained with that same careful tone in his voice. Why was he sounding so hurt all of a sudden? He must have mistaken my look for skepticism, however. "I thought maybe she'd appreciate a new pen."  
Whatever was eating him would have to wait, because a salesman approached almost as soon as the door whispered shut behind us. The man looked between us, hesitating. It struck me that we probably didn't look like his regular clientele. I was in worn jeans and a black t-shirt and Kurt wasn't looking much more reputable. I suppose I expected to get snubbed. Imagine my surprise when that didn't happen.  
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," the man said in an amicable voice. "How may I assist you?"  
Kurt nudged me and wandered off toward a wall display. The salesman just waited patiently. I cleared my throat.  
"I'm, uh, looking for a pen," I said. Off to my left, Kurt snickered and I mentally rolled my eyes. It was an idiotic answer, considering I was surrounded by nothing else. The salesman didn't so much as bat an eyelash. He moved behind the counter and withdrew several little boxes. I tried again. "It's a gift for a friend," I told the man. "A, um, girl I know." My charm and self-confidence seemed to have been left back in the car. I wasn't normally this dense, I swear.  
"Of course, sir. And does the lady prefer a ball point or a fountain pen?" he asked smoothly, opening the boxes. I looked helplessly at him. How the heck should I know what she preferred? I didn't know her that well.  
"I'm not sure." The man, Mr. Williams according to his name tag, just nodded and turned around to study the wall display behind him. I took the opportunity to appeal to Kurt for help. I caught his eye and made a 'which one?' gesture.  
"Fountain pen" he mouthed - at least I think that's what he was trying to tell me. Even without sound his accent garbled the words.  
"I think a fountain pen would be good," I said to Williams.  
"Very good, sir." He slid a few boxes toward me. "If I may ask, what size are the lady's hands?"  
That question caught me off guard. "Excuse me?"  
A bit of my usual testiness must have trickled through, because the man's upbeat expression faltered for just a moment. Looked like I was on my way to a full recovery.  
"Her hands, sir."  
I had to think about that for a moment. I honestly didn't know. Kurt shrugged at me from out of the guy's view. I was on my own for this one.  
"I don't know. A little smaller than my own, maybe?" The salesman's smile snapped back into place and he removed a couple more of the boxes, leaving a grand total of two. I plucked the first one out of the box. Nice weight to it, I had to admit. It felt like an extension of my hand. Williams slid a pad of paper across the case to me. It took a couple of tries before figuring out how to write with it, but I managed. After writing my name a couple times, I tried the other one, which was more slender than the first.  
"This one seems pretty nice," I said, putting it back in the box. Out of habit, I looked at the little tag hanging off the cap. My heart flipped. Holy cow. I'd never even had that much money in one place at the same time. It was under the Professor's limit, however, so I didn't really have to worry about not being able to pay for it. Still, the idea of spending that much money boggled my mind. I fought down the urge to say something along the lines of 'this is a pen, not an annuity for your grandchildren!'  
"Shall I wrap it for you, sir?"  
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.  
  
"You know," I said to Kurt as we rolled along the second-floor balcony an hour later, "it feels weird to be carrying around a four-hundred- dollar pen." There were several bags on my lap, the product of our shopping thus far. I groped among them until I found the Mont Blanc one, turning it over in my hands. "Hard to believe something this small can cost so much."  
Kurt snorted as we turned into Structure. "Dont' vorry about the cost; I told you: the Professor doesn't care, so long as we're responsible with his card."  
I didn't have an answer for that. I didn't really know Rahne that well. She'd been along on the rescue mission, but I'd been occupied with other problems and hadn't talked to her that much. Had to admit that she seemed like a charming girl, though, and she was pretty darn cute as well.  
"I hope Rahne likes it," I said, putting the small box safely away.  
"Could ve please talk about something else," Kurt said to my surprise. His voice had that strained quality to it again. Something was bothering him and he didn't want to talk about it. I could sympathize with that to an extent. He was reaching my limit, however.  
He started pawing through some hanging shirts. At least his halfway decent fashion sense made up for his lack of conversational prowess. I took a closer look at a few pieces on clearance by my elbow.  
"You're mad about last night," I said, carefully not looking in his direction. If it would make him stop acting like a dink, I suppose I could be conciliatory. Xavier expected as much, so it wouldn't really hurt. Besides, there weren't any other students around so I didn't have any witnesses.  
"Nein, I'm not angry. Not anymore, at least."  
I tried again. "You're upset with me about something. If not last night, than what?"  
"I'm not upset vith you, Pietro." Liar. He pulled a shirt off the rack and held it against my chest. "Vhat do you think?"  
I looked down at the shirt. "I think you're evading my question." And doing so with success, I mentally added.  
"Und I think red is not your color, but I'd have to see you in it to be sure."  
"You just want to get me alone in one of those dressing rooms," I said with a mocking smirk. Prying, however obliquely, into his problem hadn't worked. Maybe levity would.  
I found out just how well that hologram machine worked. This one was apparently tied to his system somehow. When he felt hot, it projected perspiration on the image. When he was cold, the image would shiver. In this case he blanched and then turned a very, very deep scarlet. Out of all the reactions, that wasn't what I expected. I had no idea what it meant, either.  
His actual facial expression wasn't all that strange. It was perfectly normal - if you'd call the look on a deer's face when it's been caught in headlights 'normal,' anyway.  
"Never mind," he said a little too quickly. He put the shirt back on the rack, replacing it with a couple others, blue and black.  
I just arched an eyebrow. We moved along the racks in silence for a couple minutes. He piled more clothing on me until he apparently decided that we both had enough variety to last the entire school year. Honestly, it was more clothing than I'd ever needed, but I didn't argue. He was in a strange mood and I didn't feel like dealing with any more awkward outbursts.  
We didn't talk much in the next three stores, either, though I did try to lighten the mood in Abercrombie & Fitch. I won't repeat what I said, but it was crude enough to get us thrown out of the store. On the other hand, I earned a laugh out of Kurt so I guess it was all for a good cause.  
  
After several hours, we ended up in the food court at the center of the mall. One other thing the two of us had in common - aside from his observations of the night before - was that we both had highly advanced metabolisms. Obviously this wasn't a problem back at the institute. I'd eaten there a couple times and, despite the fact that I'd plowed through an entire tray of lasagna in one sitting, no one had thought to comment on the fact that I could put away more food than several grown men. Kurt, of course, ate there on a regular basis and I assumed that no one made fun on him, either.  
Doctor MacTaggart thinks that I digest and metabolize food only slightly slower than I put it away; she'd been keen on running a test to determine just how fast my lower digestive tract worked. I'd nipped that idea in the bud.  
Out here in public, however, was a different story. We'd claimed a table near the fountain and Kurt had gone over to Burrito Bandito to get some food. The girl taking our order, who looked vaguely familiar from school, had eyes the size of dinner plates before he finished speaking. Apparently she'd never had anyone order twenty burritos at a time.  
We fell on the food like starving convicts. It wasn't a pretty sight; just two hungry teenagers at a mall food court making very, very short work of a lot of greasy food. I finished in something over a minute, mainly because I was taking time to savor the food. This was my second real meal after being fed through a tube for the last God-only-knows how long and I intended to enjoy it.  
I leaned back in the wheelchair, belching contentedly. Nothing like mall food to remind you that you're alive. Kurt was taking his time. Turned out he's a fairly dainty eater. Apparently some foods are really hard to get out of fur and taco grease was one of them. I took another sip of my soda, in no particular hurry for us to leave.  
"You never told me why you're angry with me, you know," I said in an offhand tone. Maybe I could surprise an answer out of him.  
"I said I vasn't angry vith you at all," he replied around a mouthful of burrito.  
"That's a load of horse crap and you know it." A thought occurred to me. "It's Rahne, isn't it?" He paused with his food halfway to his mouth, eyes flashing wide before sliding into that guarded look again. I'd nailed it in one, or so I thought. "You like her and you're afraid that she'll like me better."  
He grunted, setting the burrito down and picking up a napkin. He carefully wiped his hands, not taking his eyes off me. Seemed I'd hit a button or two. Yay me.  
"I thought you were going out with that Amanda chick," I said. "You planning to drop her for Rahne?"  
"Not," he paused, "exactly."  
I'd had longer and more enlightening conversations with my father in the past. Magneto hadn't said more than ten words to me at one time since I was about seven or eight, which should have told you something right there. Patience, also, has never been one of my strong suits.  
"Kurt," I said in a low voice, leaning as far across the table as I could given my limited range. "If something is wrong and it involves me for some reason, tell me." There, Uncle Charles. See? I was nice about it, I was polite about it, and I hadn't cursed once. I was making an effort! Where was a video camera when I needed one?  
"It's nothing," he replied, pushing back his chair. Speaking of buttons, he was starting to find my own. With short, jerky movements, he emptied one of the shopping bags and wrapped the remainder of his burritos in it. Without another word, he started wheeling me toward the door.  
"If I'm doing something you don't like, just tell me," I said when I realized that I wouldn't get anywhere without a lot of prying. "Xavier wants me to make nice with all you guys so it isn't really helping that you've got a problem with me, all right? What the hell am I doing that is pissing you off?" Oops. So much for nice.  
"It's nothing," he said again. I was really beginning to hate that phrase.  
"That's bull. Tell me."  
"No."  
"Tell me."  
"No."  
"Tell me."  
"No."  
"Tell..." I trailed off as something clicked in my mind. He'd spent all day watching me on the basketball court just a couple weeks ago. I'd woken up in the belly of a plane to his tail stroking my hair. He'd blushed furiously when I'd suggested he just wanted to get me alone in a dressing room earlier. Oh, jeez. "It's not Rahne, isn't it," I whispered, shocked at my line of thought.  
He didn't respond, just wheeled me out the door and parked me near the curb. I watched him walk stiffly across the parking lot to Scott's car. Summers' car, I mean. I shook my head.  
Kurt didn't have a crush on Rahne. He had a crush on me.  
Damn it.  
The engine of the Cobra growled to life and he backed out of the space, doing a lap around a parking lane to get turned around. What am I supposed to do now, I thought as I followed the car around the lot with my eyes. I didn't have a problem with his attention, mind you. I've a reasonably open mind about relationships. I was more worried about everyone else.  
As you might have figured out, I can get hung up rather easily on what other people think of me at times. I knew hardly anyone at the Institute and had no idea how they'd react to the idea of the two of us...together. Ms. Munroe would be ok with it and through her influence, neither would Evan. Of course, he hated me already. The Professor probably already knew that Kurt had a crush on me. Lance...I wasn't sure about.  
Come to that, I wasn't really sure what I thought about Kurt, either. I mean, he'd been one of the first ones at Xavier's school to be nice to me for any reason. Last night aside, anyway. Heck, I'd have probably done the same if our situations had been reversed. Thinking back, I guess I had been pretty nasty. But the rest? I didn't really care one way or the other about how he looked under the hologram. I hadn't really noticed it...him...before. Crud. I had a lot of thinking to do.  
I mean, what if I just told him that I wasn't interested at all? Would he no longer want to have anything to do with me? Would that lead to tension with the rest of the crowd? I suspected it wouldn't, mainly because he didn't seem the kind of person who would let his emotions rule over other, but I really didn't know. Besides, I'd be lying to him if I actually said that. I suppose some teeny-tiny part of me actually thrilled at the idea of dating Kurt. I shook my head. I had no idea which would be worse: telling him I was interested, or leading him on, or just flat out rejecting him. I sighed. My life had just gotten more complicated.  
I laughed bitterly, drawing the attention of people passing me on the way into the mall. They say that when life hands you lemons, you're supposed to make lemonade. What they don't tell you is that lemonade is just as sour.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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[1]: I have no idea what kind of car Xavier appeared in during the first episode, but I was able to nail down the hood ornament as a 1936-39 Cadillac one. The rest is artistic license. If anyone can provide a picture of something closer to the model used in the show, let me know and I'll correct this.  
  
[2]: This, on the other hand, is definite. The only difference between Scott's car and an actual production run of the 1967 Shelby Cobra is the custom circle-X hubcaps. I'd sell my soul for a car like that.  
  
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To My Reviewers:  
  
The Scribe3: Yes, Bobby is still zonked. His situation will be addressed more closely in the 'Queen's Side Castle' which is being written. Suffice it to say that when the White Queen is dealt with in that tale, he'll probably rejoin the cast.  
  
Sailor X1: Glad you're enjoying this. Kitty is a little miffed at the moment, but luckily she was able to take a trip to the City to cool off. I agree about the hug. Most of the time Pietro shows a cynical attitude to the world and I think it was about time something chipped away at his shell. Shame it took a spinal injury to do it, but there you are. Incidentally, I tend to laugh and 'aww' while I'm writing these chapters, so I guess we have something in common, eh?  
  
The Masked Instigator: Yes, this is going to address the Kurt/Pietro pairing I laid the foundation for in my previous fic. They're my favourite characters as well.  
  
furygrrl: I love your review. Normally when people gush like that at me, it's a little cloying since I'm sure there has to be something to b*tch about regarding my story. I'm particularly proud of this one, though, and so you get a cookie. :)  
  
Thanks for the comments, folks. Don't hesitate to tell me if I screw up somewhere, either. :)  
  
Cheers. 


	7. A Wee Confusion

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Whoops. Was that a suggestion of slash at the bottom of the last chapter? Yes. Yes, it was. I don't plan to make it easy on either Kurt or Pietro, however. Fairy tales (no pun intended) are great, but 'and they lived happily ever after' tends to make people yawn. Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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Kurt avoided me for the rest of the afternoon, which suited me just fine. To say I was confused and unsure what to do about him was a gross understatement. Not for the first time did I wish I could just pound on the problem until it went away. The likelihood of that happening was rather slim, however.  
I would have preferred to talk to Ms. Munroe about this. I couldn't bring myself to call her Ororo, since I'd known her from my past. Of all the adults at the school, she was the only one I really felt comfortable talking with. This stemmed from the fact that my foster parents had lived next door to her sister and brother-in-law and so I'd seen her nearly every week for several years. She'd always found the time to talk to me, whether it was on my back porch or while playing street baseball with Evan. This was before he and I grew to loathe one another, of course. Unfortunately, as I found out at supper that evening, she and her group of students were spending the night in Albany for that museum trip.  
Lance would have been my second choice. The two of us pretty much leaned on each other for the past year or more and I knew I'd get a straight answer out of him. As it turned out, he was on the trip with Ms. Munroe. Xavier was likewise occupied, as were Hank and Doctor MacTaggart. Apparently the Iceman's coma was the product of the White Queen and Uncle Charles was intent on fixing whatever she'd done. As soon as the table was cleared, those three had disappeared into the clinic downstairs. Sean's group wasn't expected back from the City until late that evening, which left me alone with the last person on earth I wanted to open up to.  
Not that I had a choice in the matter. If I didn't talk to someone about this and get an indication of how to proceed, I'd probably screw up. Big time.  
I shook my head, glancing at Summers. We were sitting in the recreation room...recreating. He was propped up on the couch with his nose deep inside a fairly well-worn copy of 'War and Peace,' which should give you some idea of just how dull the guy could be. I'd spent the last thirty minutes half-heartedly playing with the Xbox, but I couldn't really keep my mind on the game. The stereo system was belting out music from well before he or I had even been conceived. Summers' taste in music, judging from what I'd heard so far, left a lot to be desired.  
Rock music from the fifties and sixties tends to run heavily toward the tragic love song, which certainly wasn't helping me figure out what to do.  
After listening to yet another 'true love' die in a horrendous car accident, I tossed the controller aside and folded my arms over my chest. Summers had helped me get comfortable on the floor when I'd groused one too many times about the chair. I was leaning with my back against the head of the couch, useless legs pointing toward the television.  
"Can I ask you something, Summers?" I said as Elvis came onto the radio. God save us from the King, I thought impishly. I took a sip from the can of ginger ale I'd brought along.  
"You just did," he replied from above and behind me. I heard a page turn.  
"Har-de-har-har, smart guy. You don't have to try to be funny on my account."  
His book thumped onto the coffee table next to the couch. "What's up?"  
My mouth went dry. I hadn't planned on having this conversation with Scott 'So Clean, I Sparkle' Summers and was having trouble putting thoughts into words. Actually, I was having trouble thinking straight at the moment. What was I going to tell him, that his blue-furred buddy had a thing for me and that I was flipping out because I didn't know how to handle it? I could tell he was expecting me to say something, however, so I tried anyway.  
"I've sort of got a problem," I said slowly, trying to find a delicate way of saying it.  
I felt his hand on my shoulder. "You've got two problems. They're wearing Levi's at the moment." There was an edge of humor in his voice and I toyed with the idea of breaking his fingers. He'd been the single most boring person I'd ever met right up until I woke up to him babysitting me that morning. The new, dubiously-improved Summers was not entirely to my liking.  
"I'm trying to be serious here," I growled. Jerkwad, I mentally added.  
"Sorry." He sounded sincere, too. The couch moved behind me and he slid off, moving down next to me. I smirked when he landed on the Xbox controller. He flipped it out of his way with a yelp and looked at me. The smirk faded and I avoided his gaze. "Seriously, if I can do something just ask." You can stop being such a Boy Scout, I thought, but then I shook my head slightly. No, I didn't mean that. Not really, anyway. If nothing else, the fact he was willing to help was a good sign.  
"It's hard to explain," I muttered. I sighed, still groping for a way to put this into words. "Suppose someone, Person A, likes you, but is going out with Person B at the moment. And you think you're interested in Person C. Person A seems like a nice enough...uh, person...but you hadn't given...them...any thought. It's kind of complicated," I added lamely.  
Summers drew his legs to his chest and leaned his chin on his knees.  
"You're right. That does sound complicated." Thank you, Captain Obvious. "If you're not careful, you could end up with Person A and Person C both not liking you." I nodded. That was one of the things I was afraid would happen. Xavier wanted me to fit in and that wouldn't happen if I continued to piss people off. If I wasn't careful I'd end up alienating Kurt and Rahne, who both showed an interest in me. I wasn't sure about either of them, to be honest. It wasn't out of any lack of feeling, however, but rather because I had bigger problems without getting into any messy relationships.  
"I know," I said. "I wish there was an easy way out of this." I picked up the soda again, tipping my head back and guzzling it like a can of beer.  
He shrugged. "Have you thought about asking Kurt why he's so interested in you?"  
I choked and snorted simultaneously, a combination made worse by the fact that I was drinking at the time. Ginger ale burns like hell when it comes out your nose, I should add. To make matters worse, I'd swung my head toward Summers when he'd mentioned Kurt's name, and so I wasn't the only one to get drenched.  
"Sorry." I spluttered and could feel my eyes tearing up from the soda. I rubbed at them with the back of my hand, which did little to stop the burning sensation but may have helped my confusion. I tried again. "Sorry, what was that?"  
Summers smiled, eyes held tightly shut as he wiped his glasses off. A few stray droplets of ginger ale ran down his face, but he apparently didn't care. He was having far, far too much fun at my expense for a little wetness to slow him down. He put his sunglasses back on and squeezed my shoulder.  
"You're not the only person who talks to me, Pietro," he said with a chuckle. "I guess I'm just easy to talk to. Most of the guys around here come to me when they have problems." He shrugged, still grinning. "They don't want to bother the Professor with things like this. Maybe they think he's too old to remember what it was like to be in high school." Had to admit, Summers was pretty much right. I'd have sooner danced naked on top of Bayside High than talk to my dear Uncle Charles about Kurt and his crush.  
"How long have you known," I said flatly, trying my hardest to glare at him. It wasn't easy, since my sinuses still tingled and I could feel my shirt clinging to my chest where the soda had soaked through. I had to try, though. I'm sure he expected it of me.  
"About three weeks, give or take," he said after a moment. "He called me in Hawaii the night before you guys went out to Colorado." Great, just great.  
"Does anyone else know?" I let an edge of bitterness creep into my voice. Why was I always the last person to find out about these things? He ignored my swelling attitude, which was probably for the best. I was on the verge of losing my temper and he was conveniently within reach.  
"Just Alex and Jean," he said. I groaned. That was two people too many. "My brother was standing next to me while I was on the telephone." He shot a wry grin my way. "And it's really hard to keep secrets from my girlfriend, considering she's a telepath and all."  
I sighed. "I suppose Xavier has managed to pick it out of your skull already. Just freakin' wonderful." To my surprise, he shook his head.  
"No, Jean's been helping the two of us cloud our minds." He frowned thoughtfully. "I wonder if she's been doing the same with Kurt," he added to himself. I had no idea, so instead I tried to turn this conversation back to its original course.  
"So I guess you've had more time to think this through than I have. What should I do?"  
Man, I sounded like such a weenie. Do you have any idea just how weird it felt opening my heart to someone I just plain didn't like? He shrugged again.  
"I have no idea. I can't really tell you what to do."  
"You're such a great help, Summers."  
He bristled. "Hey, I said people come to me with problems. I never said I always had the answers." Good point. "If you want an opinion, though, I'd say test the waters with both of them and go from there." Both of them? It took a moment to realize he was talking about Rahne. It struck me that I'd just spent the last several minutes picturing Kurt in my mind and had forgotten all about the little Scottish girl. Yikes.  
I shook my head. "Date both of them? Are you nuts?"  
"You asked what I thought."  
"That was before I found out you were insane."  
He laughed at that. I couldn't help but laugh along with him. It was an absurd situation to begin with and all I was doing was making it stranger than it had to be. I guess he had a point, though. If nothing else, I'd learn more about both Rahne and Kurt if I actually went out with them rather than just fretted about it. Maybe I'd learn more about how I felt, too.  
"Thanks, Summers," I said, still chuckling. "For an uptight, squeaky- clean, overbearing clod you're not half-bad."  
This caused him to laugh even harder. "You know for a foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you're not so bad yourself," he said between gasps. That set me off again and both of us howled with laughter, slumping against one another for support. All things considered, it was a pretty funny situation. We both laughed long and hard and so neither of us noticed the door open. It wasn't until a shadow passed over both of us that I realized we had company.  
Logan looked down at us with a puzzled frown, taking in the television, the Xbox system, the book and the fact that both Summers and I were coated in rapidly-drying ginger ale with quick flickers of his eyes. The man squinted at us as though he'd never seen us before, which made sense since I don't think Summers and I had ever had reason to laugh about anything together. I nudged my partner in mirth and pointed up at Logan.  
Summers managed to get his laughter under enough control to look up. "Hi Logan," he said. I waved. Logan rolled his eyes.  
"Do I wanna know what you kids are laughing about?"  
"Probably not," I said. I was still giggling, which drew the big man's gaze in my direction.  
"Definitely not," Summers said at the same time. He and I exchanged a look and it took a lot of willpower not to start laughing again. "We'll be a little quieter if you want."  
Logan shook his head, which surprised me. He didn't strike me as the type to enjoy a good hearty laugh on occasion. No, he seemed more like the kind of person who would cheerfully slaughter you if you so much as snickered in his direction.  
No sense of humor is what I'm trying to say.  
"Not necessary, boys." Logan grinned at me and the smile didn't reach his eyes. I took note of the fact that he had sharp incisors. Not quite fangs but close enough for discomfort. "Moira wanted to let you know that our buddy here," he said to Summers, flicking his chin at me, "has a nice hot bath ready and waiting for him in the ground-floor tub. She also said to tell you that Speedy's bandages were to come off." All remaining traces of laughter I had in me died off at that point, much to Logan's satisfaction.  
"Great." I said. My enthusiasm was forced. It was hard to look forward to any activity in which I had to have help, but bathing was near the bottom of the list. Perhaps if I could convince these two I wouldn't drown they'd just leave me in the bathroom. Yeah, right. Summers stood up.  
"Do I have to have an audience?" I said plaintively. Oh, all right: I whined.  
"Come on, it won't be that bad," he said. I muttered something obscene under my breath as he gathered me into his arms. It wasn't quiet enough because he set me into the wheelchair with a frown. "I don't bend that way, thank you very much."  
One corner of Logan's mouth was turned up into a sort of smirk. "I'll leave you two girls alone. Enjoy your bath," he grunted in an amused tone before leaving.  
I groused the entire length of the hallway. I ranted at Summers. I threatened him. I even tried begging, which probably came out a little stilted considering I didn't do it that often. Nothing fazed the guy, which was a little unnerving. As we went through the stair ritual again, I had a brief fantasy about crawling away from him while he fetched my chair. That was a little premature, apparently, because the first thing I saw when he carried me to the bottom of the steps was a second wheelchair. Someone had the bright idea of putting a second one on the ground floor so that the original wouldn't have to be lugged all over the place.  
Summers pretty much confirmed that. "I got tired of dragging that thing up and down the stairs," he said by way of explanation. I just sulked, doing my best to ignore him.  
The ground-floor bathroom was the size of one of the bedrooms. I'm not exaggerating, either. It was done in the same marble flooring as the foyer and was split into several separate areas. It actually reminded me of a public bathroom, the way the sinks (there were four) were the first thing we passed as he wheeled me in. Beyond that was a couple toilet stalls and beyond those was the largest bathtub I'd ever laid eyes on.  
Hugh Hefner could have held a party in that thing, I kid you not. As my eyes wandered over the wide expanse of bubbles I imagined myself soaking in that thing while surrounded by the X-Girls: Jean, Kitty, Rogue, and Rahne. Yum. Out of curiosity, I tried to imagine Kurt in the same tub. I shook my head. No matter how hard I tried, I pictured him looking like a wet cat. I could imagine him leaning against the side, arms crossed over his chest, glaring at whoever tossed him in there. He didn't seem like a bath kinda guy. Maybe a shower.  
Summers misinterpreted my movement. "Can't back out now," he said with the same undertone of amusement Logan had used. The images fell from my mind. Without another word, I peeled off my shirt and dropped it. The ginger ale had dried, for the most part, to a sticky mess. Darn it. I unsnapped my jeans and then stopped.  
All right, so I was uncomfortable with Summers hanging around as I stripped down to my birthday suit. To be honest, that wasn't why I'd paused - though it loomed fairly large in my mind. Truth is, I couldn't figure out how to get my pants off.  
I felt myself starting to blush again and did my best to will it away.  
"Could I get a little help here," I said shortly. "I can't get out of these." Summers moved into view, looking carefully at me and the chair. He wasn't checking me out, just trying to think of a solution. I'm not sure which relieved me more: the fact that he didn't seem to give a hoot that I was half-naked in front of him or the fact that he didn't make any smart remarks about the whole thing.  
Maybe - just maybe - I could get to like this guy.  
We finally settled on a strange arrangement. He stood behind me and slid his arms under mine. With a grunt he lifted me up out of the chair for a brief moment, allowing me to get my pants down to a point where I wasn't sitting on them. I hadn't realized just how much dead weight I was carrying around up until then. I struggled a bit, trying to get the jeans all the way off.  
I almost shrieked like a girl when he moved back in front of me and tugged them all the way off.  
"Hey!" I felt like certain parts of me were going to just crawl up into my belly, if you get my drift. This had to rate as the single most uncomfortable thing I'd ever done. My heart sank. And I was going to have to do this every day for how long?  
"What are you griping about?" he said with a shrug, carefully folding the jeans and setting them on a low table by the tub. I didn't look at him, nor did I try to cover myself. That would imply I was ashamed, which I certainly wasn't. Embarrassed to the point where I thought my head would explode from the extra blood flow, yes. But not ashamed. "We've both showered after gym class," he went on, ignoring the fact that I resembled nothing more than a large, human-shaped turnip in terms of coloring. He actually had the temerity to laugh slightly. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."  
I didn't say anything. I just didn't trust my mouth.  
He didn't press the issue. Instead, he pointed at the bandages which were still wound around my midsection. I noticed that they'd been changed at some point, probably last night after somebody had found me out by the cliff. They were clean, no sign of the ugliness underneath.  
"Yeah, I guess I'd better get them off." I made no move to unwrap them. I didn't want to see what was under those white linen strips. It was bad enough that the rest of my torso was mottled with all the colors of the rainbow.  
"Doctor MacTaggart would have my hide if I let you keep them on in the tub," Summers said. When I still didn't move, he reached out and started unwrapping them himself. My hands moved into my lap of their own volition, covering my nakedness as he did so. He didn't comment on this, which was good.  
I stared down my body as he unwound the bandages, carefully winding it around his hand. I hadn't noticed before, but there wasn't much underneath. After a few moments, a gauze pad about the size of a playing card was revealed. There was the tiniest red spot on it, surrounded by a sickly greenish ooze. I was a little surprised that it didn't smell bad at all, which I supposed was a good sign. Infections always reeked, didn't they?  
I finally had to move my hands to hold the pad in place as he finished unwrapping the linen. While he set that aside, I carefully peeled the pad away from my belly. It clung slightly, making me wince.  
"Holy crap," I whispered. I guess I'd expected something...I don't know...larger. The only evidence of my father's vicious act was a tiny red dot about an inch above my navel in the center of a particularly nasty black bruise. I gingerly touched it and felt a slight twinge. I felt warm air on my lower back as Summers tugged the other pad off my back. Obviously I couldn't see that one, but I suspected it looked the same.  
"No kidding," he said quietly. I knew from the look on his face that we both were thinking of Magneto and his seemingly random act of violence. He shook his head, as though to clear it, and rose. I watched mutely as he threw the pads into a garbage can. Why had Dad done this to me? He could have turned the needle aside, I thought. I didn't think I was being delusional, either. After all, the man styled himself the 'Master of Magnetism.' Wouldn't that imply enough control to make a simple object avoid skewering his own son like a lamb on a spit?  
I looked back up as Summers pulled his shirt over his head and couldn't help myself. Whenever I feel threatened, I make smart-assed remarks. It's a defense mechanism, all right?  
"I hope you're not thinking of joining me," I said in a dry tone. He smiled and raised his eyebrows.  
"Not in the slightest," he said as he scooped me out of the chair. The muscles in my back and stomach protested at the movement. The linen must have been supporting them more than I'd thought. This freakin' hurt like hell. "But I don't plan to get soaked on your account, either. Make sure my shades don't slip off, would you?"  
I noticed that the steam from the bath had condensed on his nose and, indeed, his glasses were threatening to slide down. Again, my mouth left me in the dust.  
"And what if I don't?"  
He raised an eyebrow and turned his head, looking into my eyes.  
"Because if they slip off, you can kiss your family jewels goodbye." I looked down and realized that his head was indeed over my groin. The man had a point. I pushed his specs up his nose in response.  
The water was very hot, just the way I like it. I leaned back against the side of the tub, enjoying the feel of the smooth marble. I watched, drowsing slightly, as Summers toweled off his arms and chest. After he slipped his shirt back on, he turned around and sat down on the edge of the tub.  
"You know," he said with a silly grin. "It's a good thing I was the one to help you with this tonight. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back. Images of Rahne and Kurt flitted behind my eyelids as I let myself relax. A little Rahne, that is, but mostly Kurt for whatever reason. I smiled to myself. The more I thought about it, the better he looked. If I fell asleep thinking about that fur ball...well, I wouldn't complain.  
"Mm. Why do you say that?" I asked with a yawn.  
"Well, imagine if Kurt had been the one watching after you tonight."  
My eyes shot open and I looked over at him suspiciously. "Tell me you're not a telepath."  
"I'm not a telepath," Summers chuckled.  
"How could you possibly have known I was thinking about him just now?"  
He shook his head. "I didn't know - I just guessed." He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows at me. "I'm also pretty good at reading body language."  
I followed his eyes down. Sure enough, Mr. Happy was staring back at me, ready for action. I wanted to die. Instead I scooped a thick stack of bubbles over me and pointed a dripping hand toward the door.  
"Get out of here," I snarled.  
He left, that damn smile still playing about his lips.  
"I'll be back in an hour to help you dry off," he said on his way out. He waved. I didn't.  
Instead, I flipped the bird at his receding back, biting back a curse. Not that I wasn't pissed or anything. It's just that it would echo all over the damn house and the last thing I wanted at the moment was an audience. I slid a little lower into the water, feeling irritation for the turn my life had taken.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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	8. A Necessary Apology Part One

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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I woke up the next morning to a stranger looming over me.  
All right, that was a little overdramatic. I blinked awake, loudly cursing whoever had opened the curtains and made a mental note to ask Xavier for a room that didn't face east. I'm not a morning person at all. There was a person blocking the light from the window, I saw as my vision slowly cleared. I hadn't slept well at all. I rubbed at my eyes again, glaring at the shadow.  
"Doug?" I asked, yawning. He nodded. "What the hell are you doing in my room?" Yeah, there was an edge to my voice. I said I'm not a morning person. Weren't you listening?  
"Good morning to you too." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "The Professor wanted me to get that set up for you."  
I looked past him to the desk across from the bed, which had a very large amount of, well, stuff on it. A monitor. A keyboard. That sort of thing. It took a moment before I realized it was a computer. I think my brain was still asleep. Oh well. I yawned again.  
"Couldn't you wait until a more reasonable hour? Like noon?"  
"I thought I'd get it out of the way," he said with a shrug.  
"Knock yourself out," I said, laying back. I knew I wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep now. Not just because I'd been jarred awake, but also because I'm a paranoid kind of guy and didn't want to let my guard down around someone I didn't know that well. Instead, I just stared at the ceiling, arms crossed behind my head.  
Unfortunately, this gave me the opportunity to think about the events of the last couple days. Thinking of that brought my mind around to the conversation I'd had with Summers yesterday evening. And thinking of that brought my mind around to Kurt.  
Crud.  
I guess I'd been hoping that the problem would sort of figure itself out. I mean, what was I supposed to do? How do I tell a guy that I don't want to...to...heck, that was part of the problem in itself. I had no idea what he really wanted. It's not like I asked him about it. No, instead I'd run like a rabbit (metaphorically speaking, of course) as soon as I figured out he had an interest in me. Maybe I should ask him what he wanted out of me before making both our lives into a living hell.  
I probably would have gone through with it, too, if my thoughts hadn't been interrupted by Doug. Again. He stood up from the desk and tapped a button on the new computer. The screen glowed to life.  
"Ah, there," he said, half to himself. "That didn't take long."  
"What exactly is that, anyway?"  
"It's a computer, Pietro," he said slowly and carefully.  
I tried again. "Well, duh. What's it doing in here?"  
He gave me a strange look.  
"Everyone else has one in their room except you, so the Prof asked me to put one together and get you onto the network." Oh, right, like I knew what that meant. I didn't say that, though. Maybe Summers was starting to rub off on me. What an awful thought. I watched him type away for a couple minutes. Probably for homework, I finally decided. Yeah, that had to be it.  
"Well, there you go," he said. I nodded in his direction, lost again in the tangle my social life. Cripes, this was really eating away at me. I hoped this daze wouldn't last too long.  
I have no idea how long I sat there, leaning against the headboard, before I noticed that Doug hadn't left the room. Maybe I'd already gotten used to having a keeper around or maybe he really was just that quiet. Either way, I jumped out of my skin when he spoke again.  
"Can I ask you something?" The urge to shake my head and shoo him away was almost overpowering. I'd said the same thing to Summers last night and look what happened with that. On the other hand, I was starved for attention so I just shrugged.  
"Sure," I said. Doug walked over and sat down on the bed. He looked nervous about something. I could tell because normal people don't walk around twirling electronic equipment around in their hands. Hopefully this wouldn't involve anything of a romantic nature. I had problems enough of my own in that regard and was probably the last person anyone should be coming to for advice. At least we were the same age. If nothing else, whatever was on his mind couldn't have been too far out of my limited experience.  
"What's it like being an X-Man?" he asked. My mind shorted out for a moment. That was probably the last thing I expected to come out of his mouth. I laughed: a short, barking noise that sounded cynical even for me. "What was that for?"  
"You're asking me what it's like to be an X-Man?" I asked incredulously. Oh, that was rich.  
"Yeah," he said, looking down at his hands. "I don't know that I'm cut out for this whole 'saving the world' business."  
"What's today's date," I asked. He told me. "You've been here almost three weeks and no one told you I wasn't part of Xavier's glee club?"  
His eyes went wide. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know. I just assumed, you know..." He waved his hand.  
"No, I don't know," I muttered. "I don't belong here with the rest of these guys," I said.  
He shifted, making the bed squeak. "Why do you say that?"  
Why did I feel like I was under a strange form of interrogation?  
"Maybe I just don't believe in Xavier's dream, all right?" I snorted. "I've got enough problems without trying to be one of the good guys all the time. If it helps, I'm pretty sure that saving the world isn't high on my list of things to do either."  
Doug thought about that for a moment, then nodded thoughtfully.  
"Nice to know I'm not the only one who's not up for the job."  
I couldn't help but grin. "Oh yeah. Trust me: if you need help, I'm not the guy you call."  
"I think you're selling yourself short, Pietro," Jean said as she poked her head in the door.  
"And I think you're expecting a little too much from me, Red."  
"Don't call me that," she said automatically as she walked into the room. "Doug, the Professor wants you in his office." Doug stood and waved at me before walking out. As soon as he was gone, I scowled at Jean.  
"What do you want?" I asked. "I wasn't aware this room was the social hub of the whole Institute."  
She wandered around the room, poking around the few personal items Lance and Summers had gathered from the Brotherhood house. A couple framed photographs, maybe a dozen books, a laundry basket that hadn't been emptied yet. She picked up one of the pictures, studying it carefully. It was the one of Wanda and me in Times square with Dad. Probably about ten years old or more.  
When she didn't answer, I repeated my question. "What do you want, Jean?"  
She carefully set the picture back down on the shelf and turned around.  
"Why do I have to want something from you, Pietro?" She crossed her arms, leaning against the closet thingy. 'It's called an armoire,' she said in my mind. Damn it.  
"Get out of my mind!" I snapped. Unconsciously, perhaps, I mirrored her pose. Crossing my own arms, I leaned back against the headboard. Of course, I had a sour look on my face. That was one difference between the two of us. "Summers wants me to open up and talk to all you guys. Xavier wants me to fit in and be one of his precious students. Hank and the Doc are after me to be more upbeat about, you know, the fact that my freakin' legs don't work. Kurt...hell, I'm not even sure what he wants, but I know he wants something." I paused for effect. "Why would you be any different? And what are you doing in here anyway?" I added.  
She came around the side of the bed and sat down right next to me. I had a sneaking suspicion that she was poking around my mind and tried not to let anything slip to the surface. Her eyes settled on mine and I had to look away. She'd picked up that intense look from Xavier, I was positive.  
"I don't want anything, I promise."  
"Yeah, right." But suddenly I wasn't so sure of myself.  
"Pietro," she said. The tone in her voice made me look back at her. There was an odd look on her face, as though slightly pained by something. She opened her mouth to say something further, then stopped. A moment later, she said. "Actually, you're right. I want to help you work through whatever is bothering you."  
I'd more or less expected that.  
"At the risk of sounding like a grouch..." I said. Her lips twitched. She was trying hard not to smile. I pretended to ignore that and went on: "Why is it that none of you people can just leave me alone to work things out for myself? I did pretty good for myself before you X- Geeks got involved, you know."  
"That's horse-poo and you know it." Ooh, such strong language. Maybe I hit a nerve. "If you really want, I can ask the others to stop bothering you." I vigorously nodded. Sounded good to me. "But speaking for myself," she continued, "it's hard not to want to help when you keep projecting your problems all over the Institute."  
I peered at her with narrow eyes. "What is that supposed to mean?"  
She yawned widely. From the look of her, she'd slept as badly as I had. That should have raised a red flag in my mind.  
"You can bottle everything up if you want, Pietro, but your dreams kept me awake all night," she said.  
Oh, great. Just great.  
"Fine, I promise not to dream," I muttered. Sure, like that would work.  
"Forget it," she said, throwing her hands up in the air. I watched as she walked over to the dresser. "Let's just get you dressed and out of bed for the day."  
"Wait, you're on nurse-duty today?" She responded by tossing a shirt in my direction. If I hadn't had hyper-reflexes, it would have hit me in the face. More clothing followed just as quickly. "You're not going to try to dress me, are you?" I could feel myself turning red already. Nothing against Jean, but I didn't want to be treated like a Barbie doll.  
"Yes, I'm supposed to watch you all day. No, I have no intention of treating you like a doll," she said with a trace of irritation in her voice. Then she flashed me the most evil grin I'd ever seen on her before. "That's why I asked Kurt to help you get dressed. I'm sure the two of you have a lot to talk about."  
"You...bitch."  
"Right back at you, buddy. Think of it as revenge for keeping me up all night." Her eyes glazed over for a moment and I knew she was talking to someone with her mind. I groaned and slumped against the headboard. This wouldn't have been so bad with anyone other than Kurt. Looks like I was going to have a chance to talk with him whether I liked it or not. Darn it. Hadn't I had enough awkward moments in the last couple days?  
"No, you haven't," Jean said on her way out the door.  
"STOP DOING THAT!"  
  
I sulked for only a moment before starting to pull on the clothes Jean had picked out for me. I suppose I knew, deep down, that I'd have to confront Kurt eventually. On the other hand I hadn't planned for it to happen so soon. How was I supposed to know that I was keeping people awake at night?  
Oh, man. I wondered if Xavier knew about my dreams.  
"Whooo, that could be bad," I muttered to myself. Knowing Xavier, he probably wouldn't tell me until I was in no position to evade the subject, either. Like, say, during dinner in front of a lot of people. I groaned. Maybe not, but he'd still find a way to nail me with it if he knew.  
I struggled into the freshly-laundered shirt. When I popped my head out, I wasn't alone.  
"Good morning, Kurt," I said as carefully as I could. Considering the guy had fangs, it was probably best to step lightly. After all, I'd already managed to piss him off how many times in the last couple days? To my surprise, he grinned instead of biting my head off.  
"Guten Morgen. Jean said you'd appreciate some help." He said 'Jean' as though it had a 'zh' on the front, twisting her name into something that sounded like 'sheen' instead. Just one of the more peculiar things I'd noticed about him. I pulled on a sock.  
"Is that what she told you?" Color me suspicious, but I wasn't going to put anything past that infernal woman.  
Kurt's eyebrows shot up. "Vhat do you mean? You do not vant any help?" There was a note of surprise in his voice and I suddenly doubted my suspicious mind. Maybe Jean hadn't told him I wanted to talk. He gestured at my legs, which were lying very still against the sheets. "Should I leave?" He actually moved toward the door.  
"No, don't," I said quickly. He turned back and just looked at me with those butter-colored eyes of his. When he didn't move, I held up my jeans. "I could use a little help, yeah."  
Kurt still didn't move. Darn it. He was probably still pissed.  
I sighed, leaning back. "I guess we ought to talk, huh?"  
"You think?" I don't know if his accent grew thicker when he was irritated, but it came out 'hyoo-tink?' and I felt myself starting to laugh. I just couldn't help it. He sounded so silly sometimes that I just couldn't hold it back. His eyes narrowed and he bared his fangs at me. I'd made a mistake. He started to leave again.  
"Kurt-wait-I'm-sorry!" I blurted. He turned back around, holding onto the knob. He was tense; I could see him quivering slightly as he stood there. Almost like a predator, now that I think about it. I choked down the last of the laughter and patted the bed. "Come here," I said as contrite as I could manage. "Sit down. Please," I added.  
Maybe it was the 'please' or the apologetic tone of my voice, but he slowly closed the door and walked back over to the edge of the bed. He still didn't say anything, just bent over and started getting the jeans worked up my legs. The tension was still in him, making his fur bristle. I had a sudden urge to pet him like a cat, to calm him down or something.  
Boy, does that sound weird or what?  
Oh well, what do I have to lose? I thought. I was still having trouble thinking of something to say, so instead I just started stroking his fur. It felt amazing; as I've said before his fur, feels like brushed silk. It's very short and very, very fine, almost ephemeral to the touch. Almost like the touch of a ghost. There, and at the same time, not. As I'd suspected, there was tension underneath. His arm muscles were solid underneath my hand.  
I shook my head and snatched my hand back, a little too quickly, for it earned me a glare.  
"Sorry," I whispered. "I couldn't help it."  
He shrugged, not meeting my eyes. That was probably for the best; because I wasn't sure I wanted to see whatever was in his.  
"What do you want from me, Kurt?" An absurd image of an albino parrot came into my mind and I knew that Jean was still lurking about in there. Did she never stop?  
'No, I don't. Apologize to him, Pietro. I think you might be surprised.'  
Well, that answered that question.  
"I'm sorry about the things I said to you the other night," I said, hoping she was out of my mind. "I'm sorry for acting like a dork at the mall. I didn't know you, uh, cared."  
Kurt didn't say anything at first. He carefully tugged my jeans up around my hips and started fastening the buttons. Amazing dexterity for a guy with two fingers and a thumb on each hand, I might add. I waited for him to speak. And waited, and waited, and waited. It was only after he slid the belt through the buckle that he finally met my eyes.  
"You don't have to apologize, Pietro."  
"W-what?" I stammered. As soon as the word was out of my mouth, Jean's thought came to me again: 'Shut up and let the guy speak!' That was getting really annoying. I had a bizarre thought at that point. Maybe that's why Dad had his telepath-proof helmet made. Maybe he'd gotten tired of Xavier mentally nagging him all the time. A sensation of irritation washed through me. Apparently my daydreaming had the desired effect. I gleefully smirked in my mind. If she wanted to hang around in there, I'd keep finding ways to pick away at her.  
Kurt's voice brought me back to the situation at hand.  
"I shouldn't have acted like a moody little child toward you," he was saying. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." He sighed and moved around to the other side of the bed. For a moment I thought he was leaving, but he knelt on the covers and crawled across, lying down beside me to stare at the ceiling. On impulse I slid down from my half-sitting position. The movement made our shoulders touch and I felt him tense up again.  
"Bah," I said. "We both made this mess. I don't need an apology out of you." Does that sound out of character for me? Probably, but who cares? I'd gone through hell in the last couple weeks. I think I was starting to mellow.  
Maybe I was growing up. Gah, what a scary thought.  
"So ve are all right, ja?"  
"Is this the part where we shake hands and say 'friends'?" I asked with a trace of a grin.  
"I'm not sure," he admitted. I felt him shrug. "It alvays cuts to a commercial before I find out." I turned my head to find he was looking at me with an impish grin. I couldn't help but smile too.  
"So now that's out of the way," I said. My own smile wilted a bit. How do I go on from here? To my surprise, Jean didn't answer me. Maybe the nagging comment had driven her off. "What's next?"  
I felt him tense again and it irked me for some reason. It took me several minutes, but I managed to roll onto my side so that I was facing him. Without looking him in the eyes, I started stroking his arm fur again. He gave me a look.  
"You're nervous," I explained. "I'm just trying to make you feel less tense."  
"It's not vorking," he said. On the other hand, he didn't stop me either.  
"So what would?"  
He immediately took my hand off his arm and slipped it into his own. With a light squeeze, he said: "This."  
I think I said before that I'm reasonably open when it comes to relationships and that sort of thing. So I didn't freak out. I mean, why would I? Kurt was actually quite cute, all things considered. I mean, so he had fur and yellow eyes and a tail. And a hair color not found in nature. And fangs.  
I snickered. I wondered if Amanda had trouble with the fangs when they kissed.  
"Vhat are you laughing at now?" he asked with a faint smile. When I told him, his smile split into a huge grin. Good lord, those fangs were freakin' huge! No wonder Lance referred to Kurt as 'Nosferatu.' And here I'd thought it was just a slam against his Germanic blood. "Oh, ja. Lots and lots of problems at first. After a vhile," he giggled, "vell, she got used to it."  
"Took her a long time, you say?"  
"A few veeks, maybe. Vhy?"  
"Just curious." I blinked. "Speaking of Amanda..."  
"Vhat about her?"  
I looked at him with an incredulous expression. "Ever heard of burning the candle at both ends?"  
"Nein." Yeah, figured that much. Kurt seemed to have learned his English from television and that's not a phrase you hear that often on Jerry Springer.  
"Let me put it another way. Is she willing to share?"  
His face scrunched into a frown. "I haven't asked her. Vhy vould I?"  
"You're not serious." I looked over at him. He was, indeed, serious. I grimaced. "There's a dictionary on the shelf over there. Go look up the word 'jealousy' and get back to me when you're done. I think you might be in for a shock when Amanda finds out you've got a th-" He cut me off with a finger on my lips.  
"Pietro," he said, sitting up suddenly.  
"What?" Did I say something wrong? I mean, really. I was casually acquainted with his girlfriend from geometry class last year at Bayside High. While she seemed like a nice enough girl, she didn't strike me as the type who would be willing to share her boyfriend with, well, a guy. I had nothing against Amanda, but I had a sneaking suspicion this was going to get complicated in a hurry. I looked up to see Kurt leaning over me, close enough that his fur was tickling my eyelashes.  
"You think too much," he said. Despite the fact that he was like an inch away from my face, I had trouble hearing him. Maybe it was the blood pounding in my ears. Or maybe it was the shock when he kissed me.  
Don't look at me like that. He kissed me on the forehead. Sheesh.  
A sudden thrill ran through me. I was on the verge of pulling his head down for a proper kiss when the door to my room crashed open. I rolled my eyes as Kurt moved off me. We both turned toward the door.  
"Don't you people have anything better to do than bug me all day?" I groused at the intruder. A moment later, my mouth went dry. Kurt and I exchanged a look and then both stared at Amanda, surprise, surprise, who was framed in the doorway.  
'I'm sorry,' I heard Jean's voice in my head. 'She just dropped by and I didn't know she was here until just now.' Thanks, Red. Thanks a whole hell of a lot. 'Don't call me that.'  
"Hello, Amanda," Kurt said. His voice cracked and I had to resist the urge to snicker. Considering the murderous look on his girlfriend's face, I figured my best bet would be to just fade into the background. Laughter of any kind would probably result in my being torn limb from limb.  
This day was rapidly going downhill and I hadn't even gotten out of bed yet.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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	9. A Necessary Apology Part Two

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please. Comments on reviews are at the bottom again.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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Silence so thick you could cut it with a knife. A little clichéd, perhaps, but it certainly fit the picture. Amanda's eyes were smoky, with a heat usually reserved for ovens and fireplaces. The look on her face could only be described as 'lethal.' I thanked whatever god was smiling on me that she had her hands full with a backpack, because otherwise she'd have held a very sharp, probably bladed, object. The situation, in case you hadn't noticed, was difficult at the very least.  
She stalked into the room like a predator. Slow and sinuous, like a tiger or a shark. Or Logan. Those dark eyes flashed at me. I had a moment to wonder if I was going to get my liver handed to me before she resumed glaring at Kurt.  
Jean, I thought really hard, if you're listening: send the cavalry. Now.  
It didn't work, of course. Oh, she was probably listening in and just enjoying the discomfort all around. I'd started to notice a rather vicious streak in Jean of late. Nice to know I still have that effect on people. That aside, however, I sincerely wished she was on her way up here.  
"Kurt," Amanda seethed. That brought me back to reality. I could hear her teeth grind from across the room. Ouch.  
"Vait, Amanda. I can explain," the former object of her affection said. Kurt sat up quickly, faster than I'd ever seen him move. I couldn't help but notice that he kept his body between Amanda and me. How sweet. Not to mention stupid, considering the look in her eyes. I could just imagine her driving her nails through him in an attempt to get at me.  
"I can't wait to hear this," I said as mildly as possible. Kurt stiffened in front of me. Well, it wasn't really a lie. He still hadn't explained himself to me. Heck, maybe if he just started talking he'd be able to kill two birds with one stone. Bad analogy, perhaps. There was an all-too-real possibility of violence here. Amanda, for her part, just flicked that fiery gaze between the two of us.  
"Shut up, you albino freak."  
How original. She is - was? - dating a mutant, so 'mutant freak' wasn't really an option. Odd that she'd pick on my peculiar coloring instead, though. I don't look that strange, do I? I let it roll off me, having been called far, far worse things before. Besides, if she bitched long and hard enough, maybe we'd all come out of this alive. Heck, if that was a solution I'd happily put up with whatever verbal abuse she'd care to dish out. It sure beat the alternative.  
Just in case, though, I kept screaming for Jean in my head.  
"Don't call him that," Kurt started to say. I got his attention the only way I could, since his back was to me. I poked him hard beneath the ribs. Imagine my surprise when he choked back a giggle. Was he ticklish? I put that thought out of my mind, filing it away for later reference.  
"No, wait, let her speak. It's probably for the best if we let her screech at us for a while."  
Kurt looked down at me with an uncomprehending expression for a moment, but then he shrugged.  
"Fine, vhatever. Go ahead, Amanda," he said in an amicable tone. "Screech avay." I groaned as Amanda's face turned a dark shade of purple. Note to self: when talking to Kurt, make sure he fully understands the English that you use.  
Amanda responded by dropping the backpack onto the bed and standing over him. She stared between us with suspicious expression. Can't say I blame her. Have to admit, she did walk into a pretty damning situation.  
"You want me to screech at you," she said, shaking her head slightly.  
"Isn't that pretty much what you had in mind after you walked into the room?" I asked innocently. Her eyes flickered my way and I flinched involuntarily. Oh boy, was she still pissed or what?  
"Vait a minute, Pietro." Kurt twisted around to look at me with suspicious eyes. Here it comes, I thought. "Vhat exactly does 'screech' mean?"  
I patted his back and shot an apologetic look in his direction. "It means to scream, shout, make a scene, that sort of thing."  
"Ah. I had not realized that. Are ve sure ve vant her throwing a tantrum in here?" He sounded so matter-of-fact, as though his girlfriend wasn't going to end up on trial for two counts of second-degree murder.  
I winced. Kurt, Kurt, Kurt. You don't say the girl you're dating is throwing a tantrum - especially not in front of her. Phrasing like that has killed many a relationship. You'll note by my response that I didn't give a hoot myself. After all, he'd already shot himself in the foot. What's the worst I could do? "Depends on who's within earshot, I suppose. Could be embarrassing if anyone heard her throwing a hissy-fit."  
"Hello, you idiots. I'm still here."  
Her voice reminded me of Logan on one of his lousier days. I wasn't thrilled with that, either.  
I gave her my most charming smile. That would work, wouldn't it? "I know, Amanda. Give us a minute to decide what to do here, ok?" The smile faltered as she walked over to the door and shut it firmly. I frowned, idly wondered if the room was soundproofed somehow.  
"You," she said, parking her finger about an inch from my nose. She'd just had her nails painted, I noticed. There was a little pink star on the end of the one she'd thrust into my face. I followed her finger up her hand, to her arm, to her eyes. She wasn't blinking. That was a bad sign, wasn't it? I raised my eyebrows to show I was listening. I was almost afraid to speak for fear that the movement would spook her.  
"Yes?" I said carefully.  
"Shut up."  
"All right."  
She turned to Kurt. "I came by today to return that book you loaned me and ask if you wanted to go out tonight," she said. There was still a trace of imminent violence in her voice. She paused for a moment. "Oh darn it." Her eyes glittered. Crap. I hoped she wasn't going to cry. "What's going on, Kurt?" she finally said.  
We both looked at the blue guy. My heart suddenly flipped in my chest. All right, so maybe he was starting to grow on me.  
When he didn't respond, she spoke again and there was a slight catch in her voice.  
"Don't you like me anymore, Kurt?" she said softly. Oh hell. There wasn't any right answer to that question. Kurt looked at her helplessly. I watched as he reached out to her. She drew back slightly from his touch.  
"Of course I like you, Amanda!"  
"Then what was that?" she asked, pointing at me again. If she wasn't careful, she was going to put an eye out with those nails. One of mine, in fact. Kurt looked at me as if seeing me for the first time. In any other situation, his expression would have been priceless. Bewildered is the only way to describe it. Not just confused, but also unsure how to respond as well. He looked between us a couple times, yellow eyes flitting quickly from one of us to the other.  
"Kann ich nicht zwei Leute gleichzeitig mögen? [1]" he mumbled. Amanda looked at me and I just shrugged. I had no idea what he was saying either. He took a deep breath and rushed on. "Ich mag Sie viel, Amanda. Aber ich habe die gleichen Gefühle für Pietro und ich weiß nicht was zu tun. Ich bin traurig, daß Sie auf diese Weise herausfinden mußten. Ich bedeutete nicht, Sie zu verletzen. Nicht können wir eine Weise finden, dieses heraus zu bearbeiten, bitte? [2]"  
Amanda and I shared that look again and I could see some of the anger bleeding out of her eyes. It was being replaced by doubt. Doubt is good. If doubt will diffuse the next world war from happening in my bedroom, I will happily embrace it.  
"Uh, Kurt," she said.  
"Hey fur-ball," I said at the same time. "Sorry. You first," I added.  
She pursed her lips and I honestly thought she was going to slap me. Hopefully it wouldn't leave a bruise. I had enough of those. I was wrong, though; she didn't raise a hand. The day was looking up.  
"I didn't understand a word of that, Kurt, and you know it," she said instead. Ditto, I mentally added. Maybe there was an English-German- English dictionary somewhere in the house. I couldn't be the only one who had trouble understanding him. Then she grabbed his wrist. For such a small person, she certainly didn't have any problem dragging him off the bed. "We need to talk," she said, pulling him toward the door. She shot a very, very dark look my way and added: "Alone."  
He didn't say a word, just scrambled to his feet as quickly as possible. He caught my eye just before she tugged him outside the room and it was almost apologetic. Then the door crashed shut, leaving me alone for the first time that morning. It wasn't even eleven yet and I was already exhausted.  
If I'd known that life in this house would be so complicated, I'd looked elsewhere for help.  
I yawned, snuggling down into the pillows and sheets as best I could. Jean said she had charge of me today, which meant she'd probably come back around sooner or later. I stared off into space, trying to sort my life out while I waited for someone to wander in. I could have tried to wriggle into the wheelchair on my own, I suppose, but I didn't want to screw up. It wasn't that far from the bed to the chair to the window beyond. Visions of being found sprawled in the bushes under my window crept into my head.  
  
I must have dozed off, which wasn't too bad. A good nap now and then doesn't hurt anything. Waking up, on the other hand, nearly stopped my heart. There was a warm, comfortable weight lying against me; I could feel hot breath against my neck and a soft snoring in my ear. I'd never woken up to someone this close to me and had to bite back the scream that was building in my throat. Paranoia sucks occasionally.  
I looked down to where Kurt was curled up against me. The weight I'd been feeling was his arm draped over my stomach. His head was close enough to mine that I could tell his skin was blue underneath the fur. That was new; I really hadn't thought about it before. His eyelashes fluttered as dreamed. The rest of his body was curled up into a ball and pressed along my side. I watched as his tail twitched as though it had a life of its own.  
Aww, if only I'd had a camera. Blink, blink. Good lord, I thought. Where'd that come from?  
Since moving would have woken him up, I didn't bother. It's not like I was going anywhere, anyway. His snoring was making his fur ruffle against me. That really tickled. Laughing would have jarred him awake, though, so I didn't do that either. My options were narrowing. I glanced at the clock. It was after one in the afternoon. I hadn't eaten lunch, darn it.  
It was probably a mistake to think about food at that point. My stomach let out a gurgling squeal as though testing its volume, and then rumbled loud enough make my ears ring. Well, ok, maybe not quite that loud, but I swear I heard it echo around the room.  
Needless to say, it was probably enough to wake up the sleeping demon in my bed. And probably anyone else taking a siesta in a five-mile radius.  
I felt Kurt tense up slightly and I knew for certain that he'd awakened. I didn't even have to look; I just knew. I felt his eyes flicker open and his breathing speed up just slightly.  
"What are you doing here Kurt? I thought Amanda was already pissed off," I said neutrally. I shook my head, careful not to bang my jaw against his forehead. "She's going to pull your tail out by the roots if she hears about this."  
"Nah," he whispered in a lazy tone. "She's fine vith it."  
He sounded really tired for some reason. As far as I knew, he wasn't a telepath so I probably wasn't keeping him up at night. Might as well take advantage of his drowsiness, I thought. Could be the only time I'd get a straight (no pun intended) answer out of him.  
"Fine with what, fur-ball?" I kept my voice quiet. No need to startle him.  
"Sharing, of course, just like you suggested." Like I what?  
"Sharing?"  
"Ja," he said with a yawn. "She's villing to share me vith you."  
I whistled. "I'm impressed. When were you going to ask me about this?"  
I felt him shift slightly and looked down. Instead of getting closer to wakefulness, he was actually getting more comfortable. I watched as he nestled closer to me. The arm across my chest flexed and relaxed, hugging me just a little bit closer. Maybe I was still asleep and this was all a dream. Not that I was complaining, mind you. It felt...right...somehow.  
"Ask about vhat?" he murmured. Darn it all, he was falling asleep again. I headed that off by tugging on his tail. It took a swipe at me in response, which made me think twice about doing it a second time. "Vill you?"  
"Will I what?" I pressed.  
"Vill you go out with me?" he asked. There. He'd said it.  
"Sure," I said quietly. Taking a chance, I kissed the top of his head. It didn't feel too weird. Aside from my vision being filled with violet hair, that is. "How about we start with a lunch date? I'm starving."  
  
The rest of the afternoon was spent in physical therapy. I won't bore you with the details, since it pretty much involved nothing more than Hank moving my two useless appendages while trying to keep a conversation going. He didn't do too badly with the first, but I had too much on my mind to make small talk with the guy.  
  
That evening found a bunch of us in the rec room. Xavier and I looked like a matched set at the little chess table. Black clothing, wheelchairs, concentrating on the board. If I'd shaved my head, it would have looked downright spooky. Rahne and Kitty were curled up on a couch over by the fireplace. They were doing one of those silly quizzes in a girl magazine. I really didn't want to know why they kept giggling every time one of the boys looked over at them.  
Scott was reading, stretched out on the same couch as the night before. Poor guy. He was dull even when he was relaxing. Kurt and, believe it or not, Logan were leaning against that same couch, concentrating on a video game. The fuzzy guy wasn't doing too hot over there. Must have been a fighting game. Logan didn't so much as blink as he beat Kurt's character to a bloody pulp.  
Jamie was playing himself in a game of air hockey.  
A couple of the other students were shooting pool with Hank, who was beating them roundly. I watched, impressed, as he banked the cue ball off all four rails, pocketing three balls in the process. Then he caught my eye and gave me a slow wink. I couldn't help but grin. Not only could the guy quote Shakespeare while solving complicated science equations, he handled a pool cue like a world-class player.  
I turned my attention back to the chess board. Xavier had whipped me a jillion games in a row so far, but I think I was starting to get the hang of his strategy. He finished setting the pieces back into place and offered me the first move. His generosity was questionable; I'd gone first all evening and the longest I'd lasted so far was nine moves.  
I looked over the board, considering my options. What hadn't I tried yet? My eyes flickered over the pieces. If nothing else, chess was a good way to forget about my problems for a while. Hard to concentrate on teenage angst when you're in danger of losing if you make the wrong move. Of course with Xavier just about every move was the wrong move. I hesitated between moving a knight or a pawn.  
"Having fun, Professor? Pietro?" Jean said as I decided on the pawn. She paused and I looked up. She studied the board a moment longer, shaking her head. "Four moves."  
"Four moves what?" I asked, watching my godfather move a knight in response.  
"He's got you in four moves."  
I looked down at the board with a frown. Only two pieces had been moved. How on earth could she know the outcome of the game already? I held up my hand before she could tell me, mentally or otherwise.  
"You're just trying to scare me." I moved another piece, a bishop this time. "Where's everybody else?"  
She pulled up a chair and a second chess table and sat down next to me so that we both faced Xavier.  
"Danger Room," she said. "Sean offered to set it up for a 'powers- legal' game of volleyball."  
Woo. Volleyball. One of my least favorite sports. If you can call it that.  
"Boy, if I'd known that you guys had this much fun around here, I'd have let Dad put a spike through me a couple years ago." The look on her face was amusing. I could tell she was wondering if I was kidding or not.  
Xavier made his move. "Check," he said. What? Oh crud, not again. I tried to figure out a way out of this, only half-listening to Red and Xavier next to me. "I see you're setting up a second board, Jean. I assume you mean to challenge me as well?"  
"Of course," she said. Then she grinned. "Maybe Pietro will learn something about chess if he watches someone who can last longer than nine moves."  
"Ha, ha, ha. Oh Jean, please stop," I said in a cynical monotone. Unfortunately, she'd been right about the four moves. Looks like I was going to have to sacrifice my queen to get out of this mess. "You're too funny."  
"I do my best," she said as she set up the board.  
"Your sense of humor seems to be recovering, Pietro," Xavier told me. "That bodes well for your recovery." He paused. "Checkmate, by the way." I stared at the board in dismay.  
The man was impossible.  
I sighed and reset the pieces. There had to be some way to get the upper hand right from the start, I thought. My hand hovered over the board, fingers twitching toward one piece or another. Decisions, decisions. Xavier sighed and I looked up in time to see him close his eyes and shake his head.  
"You look remarkably like your father when you do that," he said quietly. An electric jolt shot through me and I shuddered. Suddenly I just couldn't take Xavier's eyes on me any longer. I felt my stomach knot up and had to take a deep breath. Chess didn't seem like such a good idea now. Why was it that every time I started getting comfortable around Xavier he brought up the subject of Dad?  
"Could we please change the subject?" I said through gritted teeth.  
I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up into Xavier's eyes. Full of concern, as usual. He obviously wanted to help me in some way and I wasn't sure I wanted to let him. You know me, always wanting to get ahead on my own without help from anyone. I call it self-reliance. Most of the people around me say I'm just stubborn.  
"Pietro, I know this is hard for you," he told me without taking his hand from me. I suddenly flushed with anger.  
"Oh really," I said sarcastically. "Did Magneto try to pin you to the wall like some kind of bug too?" Yeah, I was being a jerk. There were days I didn't like being reminded of my relationship with that sadistic monster who sired me. Most days, actually. I'd been a disappointment to the man ever since I was born and I still didn't know why. He always treated me like dirt, even when I was small. Excuse me if I don't show any filial piety here. Magneto tried to skewer me, to kill me. It's really hard not to resent that.  
"Yes, as a matter of fact," Xavier said. My eyes bugged.  
I didn't say anything at first, because my throat wasn't working. Jean stiffened beside me and we exchanged a look. I think she might just have been as surprised as I was.  
"Oh yes, I know exactly what it feels like to be betrayed and - what was your word - skewered by someone I trusted with my life," he said into the sudden silence. A fleeting memory of walking in Central Park Zoo with Xavier came to me. I'd forgotten that he wasn't bound to a wheelchair back then. He leveled that serious gaze at me for just a moment and then smiled suddenly. "But there are brighter things of which we could talk. For instance, I understand a party is being organized for Rahne's birthday tomorrow?"  
The change of subject deflated my anger, or maybe Xavier was just using his Jedi mind tricks on me. I brought my mind back to the board, moving a pawn.  
"Just a little something for the end of summer, Professor," Jean said from next to me. Xavier moved pieces on each board and it quickly became obvious that he was going to best the both of us. "We'll be quiet, I promise."  
"Excellent. I look forward to the festivities, my young Padawan." My head jerked up. Xavier had just the tiniest trace of a smile on his face as he carefully avoided looking at me.  
I hate it when they do that.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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Translations:  
  
[1]: "Can't I like two people at once?"  
  
[2]: "I really like you Amanda. But I have the same feelings for Pietro and I don't know what to do. I'm sorry that you had to find out like this. I didn't mean to hurt you. Can't we please find a way to work this out?"  
  
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To My Reviewers:  
  
furygrrl: I hadn't planned on making them naked, but I do have some leftover batter so I can probably work soemthing out. Your praise continues to blow me away. Thanks much. Thanks especially for the for bit about actually being able to write well. I can't wait to show my agent this particular review. Perhaps he'll try a little harder to get me published. By the way, do you no longer use AIM or are you just never online? I've added you to my buddy list but so far you've been a ghost.  
  
Storm-Pietro: Glad you're enjoying the whole fic, not just the last sentence of each one. ;)  
  
DemonRogue13: I've no idea how Kurt/Pietro fans will take it. None of them seem to be commenting. Perhaps they're still in a state of shock, eh?  
  
Keep 'em coming, folks! Reviews are the bread and water for we poor fanfic writers. :)  
  
Cheers. 


	10. A Birthday Bash

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please. Comments on reviews are at the bottom again.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
------  
  
"Ow! Damn it," I growled. I tossed the wrapping paper on the table and gave up. Rahne was going to have to settle for an unwrapped birthday gift. My mood was degenerating at a rapid pace thanks in no small part to the blisters on both my hands. They itched constantly and twinged every time I flexed my fingers. I glowered down at the mass of band-aids covering each palm. Doctor MacTaggart had used the ones with little cartoon characters on them, which certainly wasn't helping matters any. Yeah, I don't like cartoons. If that makes me evil: get over it.  
I'd been fine all day until Hank had the bright idea of having me practice moving my wheelchair around on my own. Obviously it didn't turn out too well. We both learned a valuable lesson earlier in the afternoon. Namely, my upper-body strength is equivalent to that of a ten-year-old. Maybe that's an exaggeration, but it still took everything I had just to get moving.  
Where, you might ask, do the blisters come in? Well, getting the chair to roll was hard enough. Stopping, however, was an even bigger problem. I can only imagine how many layers of skin I peeled off trying to stop rolling. I'm pretty sure that at one point smoke actually rose from between the tires and my hands. Neither Hank nor Doctor MacTaggart, not to mention Xavier, mentioned that I needed gloves of some sort. All I needed was something to protect my palms, because despite my best efforts, they wouldn't let me use an electric wheelchair.  
So now I was stuck with blisters on both hands and weight-lifting from two to four every afternoon to boot. How fun. I wasn't given a choice, either. Apparently my two quasi-physicians thought I needed to build up a little muscle. The Doc was nice enough about it, calling me 'delicate' or 'lightly-built.' The big blue guy wasn't as kind.  
I hate being called scrawny.  
Even if it is the truth.  
"Need a hand?" Lance asked from the bed. It was his turn to push me around all day and we'd ended up in his room so that I could wrap Rahne's present someplace she couldn't find me. "You're a real funny guy, you know that?" Jerk. I did my best to pretend I was alone, inspecting a particularly large blister instead. It was a strategy that didn't work too well with Lance.  
"Huh?" I heard him get up and walk over. "Oh. Sorry," he added as I smoothed the band-aid back into place. "I meant did you want help wrapping?"  
I sighed and nodded, pushing the little box toward him.  
"Where'd you learn to do that?" I asked. He wrapped like a professional.  
He grinned, deftly slitting the paper to the right size. "I had a temp job wrapping Christmas gifts a few years ago at a mall back home. Don't tell anyone though. I've got that bad-boy image to maintain."  
"Your secret's safe. I'm officially impressed," I said. He tied off the ribbon and passed it back over to me for inspection. Guess you learn something new every day. He rolled the remaining paper back up, setting it aside, and then hoisted himself up onto the desk.  
"I can't believe you paid four hundred dollars for a pen, man," he told me. I raised an eyebrow at him.  
"It wasn't my idea and it was the Professor's plastic anyway."  
He shrugged. "Still...I guess this means you like her, huh?"  
I hadn't told him about Kurt yet. Actually, I hadn't told anybody yet. I wasn't comfortable enough with most of the X-Geeks and Wanda had avoided me like the plague since I woke up. That left Lance as the only person I could talk to about stuff and I honestly didn't know how he'd respond. I didn't think he'd object, but I kept my mouth shut to be safe.  
"Sure." Maybe if I kept it short and sweet, he wouldn't pry.  
He nodded and glanced at the clock. Apparently my evasion had succeeded.  
"Party starts in a few minutes. We should probably get downstairs," he said. I dusted myself off and grabbed the wrapped box, tucking it away out of sight.  
"I still can't believe Jean managed to keep this a secret from Rahne all this time," I said as he pushed me into the hall. I thought Xavier had rules against using powers against other students, but maybe he'd made an exception. Jean had clouded Rahne's mind for the past week and it had worked like a charm.  
Lance chuckled. "I can. What I can't get over is how every time one of us mentions this party in front of Rahne, her ears hear something else." This was entirely true. Just yesterday I'd listened to Summers and Red discussing party arrangements within earshot of the girl and she'd asked me why they were talking about calculus when school hadn't even begun. Jean had just winked at me. Had to admit, I was quite impressed. Of course it also made me that much more paranoid around her, but that's life.  
Lance hefted me out of the chair with a slight grunt. Of the three remaining Brotherhood members, he was the only one who seemed to be adjusting to our change in residence. I certainly wasn't and as I said, Wanda was avoiding me for some reason. Personally I thought he was just happy to be that much closer to Kitty, but it's not like I could throw stones at the guy, not after yesterday. We both had reservations about participating in Xavier's club of do-gooders, though. So far it hadn't been a problem because nothing had happened that required uniforms and a righteous attitude.  
He dropped me into the matching chair parked at the bottom of the staircase, settling me in without a word. One thing I'd noticed was that he took my disability at face value, just accepting it as another problem to be worked around. It was refreshing in a way. Everyone else seemed to think I needed help with every little movement or action, but not Lance. He just helped me out when necessary and left me to my own devices the rest of the time. I liked the fact that he made no big deal out of it. It occurred to me that Kurt treated me the same way. No snide remarks, no sympathetic looks; the two acted like the chair was just another part of me. And speaking of the little blue devil...  
"Hey," Kurt said, coming out of the kitchen hall. I smiled faintly at him, shaking my head. Where did he get those t-shirts? [1] This one bordered on the sacrilegious, with the phrase 'WWJD (for a Klondike bar?)' stretched over his chest. I couldn't help but snicker as he joined us. Out of curiosity, I glanced up at Lance to see his reaction to Kurt. The two seemed to get along, much to my relief. On the other hand, Lance might react wholly different if he knew we were dating now. Amazing how fragile people's sensibilities can be sometimes.  
"I'll take him if you vish," Kurt said to Lance. The pointy-eared guy jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Kitty vants you in the kitchen to help carry food."  
Lance looked at me. "That ok with you?"  
"Sure," I shrugged. Then I grinned. "Try not to get lost between the kitchen and the pool."  
Lance laughed and squeezed my shoulder, heading down the hall toward Kitty and the kitchen. I watched him disappear around a corner.  
"If I was the suspicious type," I said without looking at Kurt, "I'd say you did that just to get me alone again." Strong, fuzzy arms wrapped around from behind the chair as he hugged me.  
"You'd be wrong, of course. I did that so the two of them could be alone," he breathed into my ear.  
I shook my head. His fur, silky as it was, kept tickling me. "What are you, some kind of mutant Yenta?" [2]  
"Only for those I care about," he said. He started wheeling me toward the back patio where the party was being set up. After a moment he started whistling softly.  
"That sounds familiar," I said as we moved toward the door-wall leading outside.  
"Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match, find me a find, catch me a catch..."  
"Very funny. I was kidding, you know. Lance has had a thing for Kitty for a long time now." I smirked. "Offering him a chance to be near her is like offering you a free cheeseburger."  
Kurt opened the sliding door. "You are implying that he hungers for her, ja?"  
"No, I was implying that he's easy to please."  
The patio looked as though it had been decorated by the same colorblind gimp that had done up the foyer for the party a few days ago. Streamers of all colors, few of them complimentary, were strung between the balconies and the light posts by the pool. Every piece of furniture was decorated in the same hideous fashion. Glow-sticks had been dropped into the pool, making the water sparkle with a rainbow effect. Glitter confetti was everywhere. It looked like a party-supply truck had overturned in the backyard.  
It was overwhelming, to say the least.  
One of the picnic tables was laden with snacks and drinks, but from what I understood this was meant to be a barbecue as well. I looked around for the grill and immediately wished I hadn't.  
Logan was busy butchering a side of beef like it was Sabretooth, turning it from a solid hunk of meat into steaks in a matter of seconds. With his claws. Ew. God only knew where those things had been. Worse, I caught a glimpse of his barbecue apron when he turned back toward the grill. It was emblazoned with a logo for 'Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pies.' [3] I fervently wished that Kitty and Ororo had prepared a salad or something because I was having serious doubts about the steak. Not to mention the cook.  
People trickled outside after that. A stereo started playing somewhere in the background. Kitty and Lance stocked the food table while Jean walked around passing out party hats.  
I shook my head as she came near. "Oh no," I said with conviction. "No way in hell I'm wearing that silly thing." She looked at me and I suddenly felt a heavy weight in my mind.  
"Are we going to argue about this?" she asked. I crossed my arms in response, shooting her my most sullen look. "Cheer up, Pietro," she added, cocking her head to one side. She idly played with hat in her hand. "If you keep sneering at me, I'll make your face freeze like that."  
I snatched the silly-looking hat out of her hand and snapped it onto my head.  
"There, happy?"  
"Of course. Have fun tonight," she told me. "Remember that school starts on Wednesday. This is probably the last party we'll have for a while."  
"Gee, you're just full of good news," I muttered darkly. Kurt placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. I glared up at him and he shook his head slightly, sending a warning look my way. "Fine, I'll have fun."  
"Good," she said, turning away to pass out the remainder of the corny hats.  
"...but I won't like it!" I called after her.  
The elastic band on my hat snapped in response, making my jaw sting.  
"You need to be nicer to Jean," Kurt said from above me.  
"If this is a lecture, wake me when it's finished." Don't get me wrong. I liked Kurt. More than a little, it seemed. But sometimes he could be just as wishy-washy as the rest of these people. I didn't need to be nicer to Jean. Quite the reverse in fact. I mean, it was all I could do not to claw my eyes out whenever she came near me.  
The rest of the adults arrived and the party started in earnest. Xavier, I noted, was wearing a tiny plastic derby perched jauntily on the top of his head. It made me feel a little better about wearing my own ugly hat. It's true that misery loves company.  
I was a little surprised to see Bobby up and about as though nothing had happened to him. Apparently Ororo had found a cure for whatever the White Queen had done to him while her group of students were up in Albany. He looked a little wan, but I wasn't one to talk. I was secretly relieved that he was all right, though. I liked his warped sense of humor.  
The guest of honor arrived soon enough. Sam wandered in right behind Rahne, covering her eyes. A deafening roar went up around me as people broke into song, each in their own key. I didn't pretend I had a singing voice. Instead, I made use of the distraction to get a better look at the birthday girl.  
Her short reddish-brown hair was pulled back from her face into a pair of pigtails. I hadn't noticed before, but she had freckles. Just enough sprinkled over her nose and cheeks to give her a certain charm. A light green t-shirt over khaki shorts completed the image. She was cute. I certainly can't deny that.  
She covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide. Apparently Jean's subterfuge had worked and this really was a surprise. I watched as she hugged Sam, who was nearest her. Looked like she was enjoying herself. She smiled at everyone in the patio and I swear her eyes lingered on me for longer than everyone else. I guess everyone was right; she did seem to like me.  
Woohoo!  
  
"Oh, Pietro! I didnae see ye there." I looked up at Rahne, who was peering into the darkness where I sat.  
Well, I should hope she hadn't seen me. I had been doing my best to be invisible. I'd spent the last fifteen minutes parked in the shadows at the far end of the pool, near the diving board, watching the festivities. All around us people were dancing and having fun and I resented the fact that I was stuck in a chair the entire time. It was cloying in the extreme and I won't deny that I was getting moody again.  
I'd managed to lose Lance and Kurt, who both seemed to think I was their entire mission for the night. Both of them had been under a lot of stress lately and I figured I could get along on my own for an hour or two so they could have fun. Normally I crave attention like a junkie needs his smack, but it was getting ridiculous. For the last several hours I'd been fending off their attempts to assist me in any way. It was simple, really: either they got lost or I went nuts.  
I'd finally managed to rope Rogue, of all people, into pushing me somewhere out of the way. She didn't ask questions, thank you very much, which was more than I could say for some people.  
"Hi," I said. Once again my vocabulary failed me. Certain people just have this effect on me, I suppose. "Uh, happy birthday too," I added hastily. Good thing we were in the shadows again because I could feel myself start to blush. Darn it.  
Rahne sat down on the little ladder on the diving board.  
"What're ye doin' all th' way out here?" she asked. I looked past her, toward the raucous party in the background.  
I shrugged. "I'm not all the way out anywhere. I got tired of Lance and everybody hanging all over me tonight." She gave me a curious look and I wiggled my fingers in front of her. "See, they don't seem to understand that it's my legs that don't work. I've still got two hands." I sighed. "I just needed some time alone."  
"I'm sorry," she said. Oops. She started to get up and I caught her arm, almost toppling the wheelchair in the process.  
"Wait, I didn't mean you had to leave!"  
She at back down and smiled. It made her whole face light up for a just a moment, but then she frowned slightly. Taking my hand in her own, she turned it over. "What did ye do to yerself?" she asked curiously, fingering the band-aids that covered my palms.  
"It's nothing," I said, wincing slightly as she poked at one. "Hank tried to teach me how to get around on my own today and it was a bit of a fiasco."  
"Oh," she said with a puzzled look. Time to salvage this conversation.  
"Hey, I got something for you," I said, fumbling around my lap. In retrospect what I was doing probably looked vaguely obscene, especially to a fifteen-year-old girl. Of course that didn't occur to me at the time. I managed to come up with the little box after a moment. It had wedged between my thigh and the side of the chair, which is why it eluded me for so long. I couldn't feel it, you see. "Here."  
Her eyes widened and her mouth made a cute little 'o' of surprise. I felt a grin spread across my own face.  
"Can I open it?" she asked.  
I couldn't resist. "Nope. It's actually for Jean." The look on her face was priceless, but she saw that I was kidding almost immediately and punched me in the shoulder. She hit, if you'll excuse the expression, like a girl. I snickered. "Yeah, go ahead."  
She squealed in delight and went after the ribbon with gusto. Within moments there was shredding wrapping paper and ribbon all around us. She gasped when she saw the Mont Blanc logo on the box.  
"Ooooh," she breathed. "Ye didnae have t' do this."  
"Ah, it was nothing," I lied.  
She flipped open the lid and gasped aloud this time. I'd have to remember to thank Kurt for this particular gift idea. The moment I thought that, I felt slightly guilty. Oh what the hell, I thought, it's only a birthday present.  
And besides, he's still dating that Amanda chick. Fair is fair after all.  
I watched as, with an almost reverent expression, she plucked the pen out of the box. She turned it over in her hands, as though committing it to memory. Then she grasped it in both hands and twisted sharply.  
"Good God! What are you doing?!" Had I been thinking, I'd have taken a closer look at the silly little thing when I'd bought it. She deftly popped an ink cartridge into the chamber and closed it again. Picking up a scrap of wrapping paper, she scribbled something.  
"Relax," she said to me. "It's a fountain pen; it needed filled."  
"Oh, gotcha."  
"It's wonderful, Pietro!" she squealed again. Slipping the cap on the most expensive thing I'd ever purchased, she clipped it to her shirt. Then she leaned over and hugged me. And then she kissed me on the cheek. I only dimly heard her say, "Thank you very, very much!" because the blood was pounding in my ears.  
Perhaps I could turn this to my advantage, eh?  
"Is this a good time to ask you out?" I said in the most urbane voice I could muster.  
She hugged me again. "Yes! When?"  
"Uh, Friday?" I ignored the alarm bells going off in my head.  
"Works fer me. Where?" She had me there. I looked pointedly at my legs.  
"That's a good question." I trailed off. "Whatever we do, someone's going to have to drive us there. Tell you what," I said, brightening. "I'll figure something out and let you know."  
"Sounds great," she said with a smile.  
"Oh, uh. One thing, though," I added as an afterthought.  
"Wha'?"  
I took a deep breath. "Don't tell anyone yet, ok?"  
She cocked her head, but didn't argue. Thank heavens. Fact is she probably thought my request was a little odd. Lucky for me, I was saved by the Doc calling her from across the patio. Her perky little smile returned instantaneously and with a final kiss on the cheek, she bounded over to Doctor MacTaggart. I breathed a sigh of relief. It didn't last long.  
"Isn't that just a little contemptible?" I heard Jean say from behind me.  
"About as much as eavesdropping," I growled. "Just how long have you been back there?"  
Red walked into the light, sitting down where Rahne had been sitting a moment before. Her expression clearly said she wasn't terribly pleased with me for some reason. I wasn't too worried. The day I finally managed not to irritate Jean in some way was the day my father gave up his dreams of world conquest and became a rabbi.  
"So I made a date," I told her after making sure there was no one around to hear. "Sue me, but don't lecture me. If you do I swear I'll scream."  
She frowned. "Do you actually intend to go out with both Kurt and Rahne on Friday?"  
What was she talking about?  
"Kurt and I don't have any plans for Friday." The look on her face said it all. "I take it you're about to tell me that he does, indeed, have a date planned."  
Jean sighed and for the first time since I'd known her she looked unsure of herself.  
"I don't know that I should say anything..." she started.  
"...but I'm a tenacious bastard," I interrupted. "You've got my interest piqued and I'll bug you from now until Friday if that's what it takes. What's going on?"  
She told me.  
"Aw, man. Carnegie Hall, huh?"  
Jean nodded. "And it took him all summer to convince the professor to let him go to this concert to begin with. He's had tickets since June."  
I sighed. This complicated things.  
"He might have mentioned this," I grumbled. "Damn. And I like Savage Garden, too."  
Her eyes glazed over for a moment. "He's going to tonight, after the party," she said. I had the uneasy feeling she was picking that information right out of his brain. How creepy can you get?  
"I don't suppose you'd help me figure out what to do, would you?" I just about choked on my pride with that question. Asking for help from people came with difficulty, but asking Red for help was a real ego-killer.  
"Don't suppose I would, no." I stared at her in disbelief. Since when did Jean not help someone with a problem? She'd been known to go out of her way to help people. What makes this any different? "You got yourself into this mess, Pietro. You can get yourself out of it." She patted my knee and stood.  
I watched her walk away, mentally kicking myself. What was I thinking when I asked Rahne for a date? This was going to be an extraordinarily long week, whatever happened.  
  
I was still pondering my dilemma well into the night. Three o'clock found me lying awake in bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering what I was going to do. So far I hadn't come up with anything more workable than crawling under a rock and hiding for the duration. Whatever I did, someone would get hurt. Crud.  
The door creaked open slowly and I just about jumped out of my skin. I squinted in the sudden light. Xavier's electric bill had to be through the roof if he left the hall lights on all night.  
Logan stood framed in the doorway. Great. Things were just getting better and better.  
"Ya havin' trouble sleepin'?" he asked quietly, reaching for the light switch.  
"Yes, and don't turn on the lights." Wait a minute. "What are you doing up anyway?"  
Logan walked in, shutting the door behind himself. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust back to the darkness. This didn't seem to be a problem for him, because he threaded his way through my room to the overstuffed chair next to the bed without tripping on anything.  
"I check on you kids every coupla hours during the night," he told me. I blinked.  
"I won't ask," I replied. The room was very quiet for a minute or two. Logan sat down without a word. I could feel his eyes on me in the dark and for a fleeting moment I felt like a mouse under the gaze of an owl.  
"Ya wanna talk about it?" he said finally. I twitched again. The man made me nervous for some reason. The fact that he was a walking armory probably had something to do with it. I find it hard to relax around someone who carries bladed weaponry around in his forearms. Wouldn't you?  
"If I said no, would you leave me alone?"  
"Nope." He sounded awfully smug about it, too.  
I sighed; the sound was quite loud in the dark room. "I've got a dating problem that's keeping me awake." I could see him nod and then grin. Moonlight reflected off his teeth, making him spookier than usual.  
"Gotta decide between Rahne and Kurt, huh?" he said with a trace of amusement.  
How...? Oh, I was going to kill her. "I hate Jean," I muttered.  
A low chuckle floated across the room from the chair. "Jean didn't tell me nothin'."  
"How'd you find out, then?"  
"Keep yer shirt on, kiddo. No one told me about you and Kurt," he said in that same amused tone. "I can smell him on your sheets." What? Oh yeah. It had been two days since I'd woken up to him curled up beside me and I was still finding blue hairs all over the bed. Logan had a hell of a sense of smell. "I overheard Sam telling Amara that Rahne had a crush on you the other night."  
"I see."  
"Yep. So what's the problem?" He sounded sincere enough, so I decided to trust him. Just this once, you understand. At least he wasn't freaking out about the possibility of two guys getting it on. Uh, not that we'd fooled around yet. Oh jeez. If he could pick up the scent of Kurt when the guy had done nothing more than sleep - literally sleep - in my bed, he'd be able to smell...  
I groaned.  
"Ya gonna tell me or just moan about it?"  
"Anyone ever tell you that your people skills need polishing?" I snapped.  
"Once." The sound of his claws popping out of his hand punctuated his next words: "He didn't say it twice, though."  
"I'll keep that in mind," I said. Logan resheathed his cutlery. "It's kind of a long story."  
"I've got all night," he said. Darn it.  
"I really don't want to talk about it." Not to you anyway, I thought.  
"All right," he said. Shadows shifted as he stood. At least he didn't seem to want to argue with me. "Good luck," he said on his way out the door.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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[1]: This particular shirt comes from tshirthell.com, a web site I highly recommend to anyone as decadent as myself.  
  
[2]: The matchmaker from 'Fiddler on the Roof.'  
  
[3]: A reference to Sweeney Todd. It's a Sondheim musical about cannibalism. Let's just leave it at that, shall we? Also a slight homage to Laurell Hamilton, who had a character in one of her books wear the same inappropriate apron at a barbecue.  
  
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To My Reviewers:  
  
furygrrl: I hadn't planned on making them naked, but I do have some leftover batter so I can probably work something out. Your praise continues to blow me away. Thanks much. Thanks especially for the bit about actually being able to write well. I can't wait to show my agent this particular review. Perhaps he'll try a little harder to get me published. By the way, do you no longer use AIM or are you just never online? I've added you to my buddy list but so far you've been a ghost.  
  
Sailor X1: Got you to read slash, eh? --fluffs ego-- Damn, I'm good. Don't worry about the Amanda situation. She may say she's fine with it (after all, she really likes Kurt and wants him to be happy) but reality will set in soon enough. I'm looking forward to writing the drag-down, screaming catfight between Amanda and Pietro.  
  
Storm-Pietro: Glad you're enjoying the whole fic, not just the last sentence of each one. ;) There will be plenty of Kurt/Pietro in this fic. Probably slightly less Rahne/Pietro, but that's only because my experience in straight relationships is somewhat limited to spectator status. I just don't know how well I can write guy/girl fics. :\  
  
Ultramatt17: Edge of your seat? How odd. That's not a reaction I expected. For an adventure story, sure, but for an introspective fic like this...hmm. At least you seem to be enjoying it. As for Xavier's mean streak, I wasn't aware I'd written one into him. Could you be more specific? The 'Star Wars' bit is easier explained: he probably picked it out of someone's mind.  
  
DemonRogue13: I've no idea how Kurt/Pietro fans will take it. None of them seem to be commenting. Perhaps they're still in a state of shock, eh? If you liked the spat between Kurt/Pietro/Amanda, keep an eye out for chapter thirteen. Expect more of the same, only with more violent tempers and more caustic comments.  
  
Keep 'em coming, folks! Reviews are the bread and water for we poor fanfic writers. :)  
  
Cheers. 


	11. An Unpleasant Turn

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WARNING: This chapter has a somewhat graphic description of a hate crime at the end of it. If you are going to be offended by strong language and violent actions, please click the 'Back' button on your browser NOW or skip ahead to the next chapter (when posted) to avoid it.  
  
This chapter is rated R for hate-related violence and foul language. Consider yourself warned.  
  
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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please. Comments on reviews are at the bottom again. I should note that the actions depicted near the end of this chapter are fairly barbaric and represent some of the less savory parts of human nature. Apologies in advance for any offended sensibilities.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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School started two days later. By the middle of fourth period I was already wishing I'd dropped out. It wasn't the fact that I was being pushed around (literally) by members of Xavier's merry band of mutants. Nor was it the fact that people kept waiting on me hand and foot, though that did irritate me somewhat. No, what really got to me were the stares.  
I should have had an idea of just how bad the day would go the moment Lance parked in the lot. A few people lingered on the sidewalk as he unloaded the wheelchair. By the time he'd transferred me into the damn thing a small crowd had formed. It felt like the entire school was watching as he rolled me into the building. People were peering at me as though I was some sort of strange creature. You know the routine: the glance, the look-away, then that longer, more furtive second look as though trying to figure out precisely what you are. It was driving me up a wall. I swear, the moment I got my legs back I was going to do something suitably horrible to everyone who'd given me that look.  
Like superglue all their lockers shut in-between tardy bells. That sounded appealing.  
It didn't stop on the sidewalk, either. I could feel eyes on me all the way to the office. I'm sure that by the time I had my schedule in hand and had figured out a plan for getting to and from class the entire school knew about my situation. How jolly. Oh, I freely admit that I enjoy being the center of attention - most of the time. This most definitely does not include being stared at like a caged animal. I draw the line at being scenery.  
The one bright side of the entire school day, in a matter of speaking, was the fact that I shared every class with at least one other student from the Institute. Kurt, for example, was in trigonometry with me; Lance and I had English together, etc. This made it a lot easier to coordinate moving about the school.  
It turned out I never had to look too far if I needed one of them, either. Since someone had to keep an eye on me (and get me where I needed to go) at all times, I guess they found it a lot easier to just hang out at my locker. You might say my locker became the default social center for the Institute kids. I wasn't sure I liked that, but at least I didn't have to worry about mobility.  
Mind you, sharing classes with the X-Brats was also something of a drawback. I mean, I had to live with these people. Shouldn't school allow me time away from them? After all, I have a certain reputation to maintain.  
Obviously that was out of the question. Generalissimo Xavier had ordered his little minions to accept me into his guerilla army as one of their own. Getting time away from them was out of the question. They had their orders to make me fit in, even if I wanted to keep my distance. Of course, some of them could actually want to be friends with me...  
Nah. Who was I kidding?  
The first four hours had gone by quickly enough. After I'd scowled my way past any inquiries as to my health, people had generally left me alone. Except for the staring. That didn't stop until later, but I'll get to that in good time.  
Usually I like history classes, but this one had gone on for what seemed like forever. I was sure that by the time the bell rang the textbook would be out of date. I made a note to try to have history swapped with another period if possible. It's hard to pay attention in class when lunch is next on the agenda.  
Normally I keep a case of energy bars in the bottom of my locker to munch on between classes. Since this was the only first day of class I hadn't had a chance to pick up any. So while Mr. Peterson droned on about the Hundred Years War or the Seven Years War or another of those conveniently-numbered wars my mind was wholly on lunch. Granted, cafeteria food lurked somewhere between boiled cabbage and Spam on the edibility chart, but at least it was filling.  
More importantly, lunch would possibly give me a chance to be alone or at least left alone. I say possibly because I shared history with Summers, who was a little too attentive for my taste. The hard part would be convincing him to get lost for the thirty-minute lunch period.  
You're probably wondering why I shared any classes with Summers or Red, with whom I had psychology. The short version is that I'm smart. More specifically, I've consistently ranked much higher than average on placement tests. As a result, I'd been allowed to enroll in classes up to one grade higher than my own. Transferring to Bayside High hadn't changed that. Since Mystique had run the place, she'd ordered the scheduling offices to accommodate me. Apparently Principal Kelly didn't question her decision, either. The fact that I had straight-A's probably had something to do with it.  
The bell finally rang and the classroom emptied at a speed only slightly slower than a stampede of buffalo. Summers, of course, lingered behind until the door became less congested. "Need anything from your locker?" he asked me as he hefted his backpack over his shoulders.  
"Actually, yes," I said with a sigh, "but if you think I'd fit in there, do me a favor and stuff me in there before the next class starts." He wheeled me past Mr. Peterson's desk, on which the teacher was laying out his own lunch. I started to salivate. "After lunch, that is," I added as we entered the hall.  
"What's wrong? Someone giving you grief?"  
I didn't say anything for a moment. I was too busy trying to avoid people's eyes and failing to pay attention to the guy. As soon as we'd come out into the hall the watching had started. This time there was an undercurrent of whispering to go along with it. At least that was new.  
"Pietro?" Summers asked again.  
"The only trouble I'm having is not freaking out while everyone stares at me," I told him in a voice just loud enough for him to hear. He went quiet above me; a glance told me that he was looking around us. A slight frown settled onto his face.  
"They're not staring. Much, anyway."  
"That's because you're looking at them!" I snapped. He rolled me up to my locker, and then leaned against the one next to mine. I could feel his gaze on me along with everyone else's as I spun the combination on my lock. "And now you're doing it. Quit that."  
"Why do I get the feeling I'm missing something here?" he asked.  
Because you're clueless, you uptight imbecile? I didn't say it out loud. I didn't have to: Jean walked up at that point and the look on her face was enough to tell me she'd overheard my thoughts.  
"That wasn't nice, Pietro," Jean said by way of greeting. Summers gave her a blank look as he put his arm around her.  
"Hello to you too, Red," I said dryly, shuffling books in into my backpack. Normally at this point, before lunch that is, I'd be popping a Xanax. Unfortunately I hadn't had that prescription refilled since moving out of New York City. So I'm a little tense, I thought. It's nothing I can't handle.  
"Don't call me that," she said automatically. Then she looked at me. "You're on an anti-anxiety prescription and you didn't tell Doctor MacTaggart?"  
I zipped my backpack and slammed my locker shut. "Will you quit doing that?" I growled at her. I expected Summers to start moving us toward the cafeteria, but he didn't move. I twisted around and looked up at him.  
He looked highly amused for some reason.  
"What are you grinning at?"  
Summers smirked. "You guys," he said. The three of us started down the hall. "You two are always at each others' throats for some reason."  
"Well, it'd be great if she stopped reading my mind," I said.  
"He keeps calling me that annoying name," she said at the same time. She and I exchanged a look. Ok, so it was a silly argument on both ends. Wouldn't catch me admitting that out loud, though. I'd never give her the satisfaction of knowing I felt just the tiniest bit guilty that we bickered so much.  
'I'll ignore that,' Jean's voice said in my head. 'Have you come up with a solution for Friday yet?' My eyes slid over to hers. That she hadn't asked that aloud meant that she probably hadn't told Summers yet. Good to know that she could keep her mouth shut on occasion.  
Not yet, I thought at her. If I didn't think of something soon, Friday would really suck.  
Lucky for me I was still on the free lunch program, because I still had no cash to my name. Turns out I was the only one to go through the line, too. The others had packed lunches. I regarded the 'meat' loaf with a critical eye and resolved to do the same for tomorrow.  
Despite my reservations, it didn't take long at all to get rid of Summers. Apparently he wanted to spend a little time alone with Red, so he deposited me in an out-of-the-way corner of the courtyard. I noticed that he didn't go very far, either. I guess Mr. Goodbar still wanted to keep an eye on me. Most of my younger housemates had the earlier lunch period, so at least I didn't have to suffer through the next thirty minutes with company.  
I spotted Amanda and Kurt across the yard. After having spent so much time with the little blue guy in his natural form, it was like seeing a stranger. Intellectually I knew that he was underneath all that, but it really touched a chord in me that he felt it necessary to walk about in another form. It just felt wrong that we lived in a world that wouldn't accept us for what we were.  
Considering we were keeping our relationship, whatever it was, under wraps, I suppose that sounds hypocritical. I never said I was consistent. Keep that in mind.  
What on earth was I going to do about him? He'd been so excited after Rahne's party, when he'd asked me to go with him to that concert. I'd drown in guilt if I pulled out. Rahne, on the other hand, had been just as enthusiastic about being asked on a date. I idly wondered if there were any tickets left. If Kurt was going to take Amanda along, he couldn't very well object to me taking Rahne, could he?  
Urk. Forget I said that.  
Maybe I could get away with taking Rahne to dinner and then go with Kurt to the concert. That was probably my best choice. It would have to be a really early meal since we'd have to be in the City by around seven and it was a bit of a drive. Hopefully the guy would ask for the keys this time. Somehow the idea of being nailed by New York's finest for grand theft auto didn't appeal to me. Yeah, that sounded like the best option. It beat the heck out of dragging Rahne along on an already-complicated date.  
A shadow loomed over me and I realized that I'd been a little too focused on Friday night. I looked up to find Duncan Matthews, Bayside High School's resident jackass, standing over me. Since his sycophants weren't hanging on his elbows, I assumed this was a social call and not an invitation to get splattered across the pavement.  
I can't imagine what he wanted with me. It's not like we moved in the same circles, after all. He was part of the jock crowd, with everything that implies, and I wasn't exactly into sports other than basketball. Mainly because of people like Duncan. The idea of associating with idiots is part of what kept me out of Xavier's Institute, after all. Why should the high school athletics department be any different?  
"Hello, Duncan," I said warily.  
"Maximoff," he replied. I waited. "I'll keep this short. Stay away from Jean." He crossed his arms and stared down at me. What the hell was he talking about?  
I shook my head. This guy was nuts. "Look, number one: in case you hadn't heard, I'm living at the Institute now. It's hard to stay away from her when we live at the same freakin' house. Number two, and I'll say this slowly so that you won't misunderstand: she's not going out with you any more."  
I pointed past him to where Summers and Jean were sitting. Not just for his benefit. I was trying really hard to get their attention too. There was something in his face that told me I'd probably been a little too snappy with my remarks. Needless to say, he didn't even bother looking; he just kept glaring at me.  
What was I supposed to say? That I'd keep clear of his ex- girlfriend? Hell, I was already going out with two people at once. The last thing I needed was another warm body thrown into the mix.  
"What's this really about, Dunc? You can't really be serious about her. I mean, she dumped you. Hard, as I recall." Nice going you dumb ass, I thought. Why not just twist the knife a little more? Perhaps rub a little salt into the wound too? I tried, belatedly, to salvage the situation. "What gives you the idea I'm interested in her, anyway?"  
Duncan's face was a marvelous shade of red. I had to admit I was impressed underneath the feeling of imminent death. I'd never seen that particular color on a person before. It put me in mind of a rather irate tomato. The school bell rang before he could answer. My luck was running high today. This could have been messy had he caught up with me earlier.  
I took a quick look past the hulking jock and felt a sizable amount of tension bleed away. Summers was on his way over to take me to the next class. The frown on his face said plainly that he didn't like Duncan. That moved Summers up a notch in my book. He was still a righteous dork, but at least he had decent taste in people.  
"Hi, Duncan," he said. "If you'll excuse us, we need to get to class." Without waiting for a reply, he got us moving toward the door. I didn't take my eyes off Duncan the entire time, just in case he seriously tried to start something. After school, his eyes told me. Wonderful. I had about three hours to live.  
Summers didn't slow down once we were inside the building. "Do me a favor and keep out of his way, will you?" he said as we headed toward biology. "Jean has a feeling he's got it in for you for some reason."  
"Can't imagine why," I said, shrugging. "For once we agree on something, though."  
That earned me a smirk. "Lance giving you a ride home?"  
"Yeah." I blinked. Home? Is that what Xavier's place is to me? I hadn't really thought of it that way. I mean, isn't home supposed to be someplace where people care about you? Where you can live without worrying about anything? The strange thing is...I think Summers may have been right.  
"Good," he went on. "Kurt's got you for the next two classes. I think between the three of us we can avoid that jerk." That last was said with a noticeable amount of venom.  
"Admit it: you'd rather knock him on his ass with your eyeballs, wouldn't you?"  
He snickered. "I'd jump at the chance, but the Professor wants us all to be a little more careful about using our powers openly. He said that we can't afford more bad publicity."  
I didn't know how to respond to that, but I didn't have to. The tardy bell rang as we entered the classroom and that was it for casual conversation. I couldn't help but think about what he'd said, though. I'd glanced at the newspaper once or twice recently and noticed more and more editorials about mutants. It was hard to say just how tenuous the balance between the pro-mutant and anti-mutant groups was, but it seemed like it was fairly close. I supposed I could see why Xavier wanted us all to be extra careful.  
  
English Lit dragged on and on around me. Fortunately, I can read a novel in about five minutes; ten if we're talking about something thick. I wasn't worried about not concentrating. Every time the teacher looked at me as if to chide my inattentiveness, I could see her eyes linger on the chair before looking away. I'd have to remember to use that to my advantage.  
This was the final class of the day, thank heaven. I'd only been awake for nine hours and I was exhausted. I hadn't realized how hectic high school was until I wasn't able to keep pace with it on my own. How irritating. I smothered a yawn, trying not to daydream about taking a nap when I got back to the Institute. That was pure fantasy on my part. I had no doubt that Hank would want me to work out first. Then there'd be more of that physical therapy. Then more practice moving myself about. And then, if I hadn't dropped dead by seven, I might be able to squeeze in a meal.  
I made the decision then and there to catch up on any homework during the ride to school tomorrow morning. There wasn't the slightest doubt in my mind that I'd be going to bed early for a while.  
  
Lance snagged me at my locker a couple minutes after the final bell rang. His final period was on the other side of the school and he was just about out of breath when he got there. I waved to Bobby, who'd hung around while I waited for my ride, and watched him take off down the hall to see if he could catch Summers before he drove off.  
"Been waiting long?" Lance panted.  
"Not really. You sound like crap," I said. He was also soaked in sweat. "No, don't tell me. You've got gym for seventh period."  
Lance nodded, leaning against my locker. "Coach ran us. Around the track all hour. Said we were. Getting lazy. Over the summer." He punctuated each sentence with a gasp. Poor guy. I put on my most sympathetic face while he talked. Inside, however, I exulted that I didn't have to take gym until my legs worked again. Coach Bingerman was an ex- Navy Seal who felt that if you couldn't keep up with him on the track you didn't deserve to live. Since the man could probably run a horse into the ground, he held a low opinion of just about everyone at school. The feeling, I might add, was mutual. Everyone I knew hated Coach with a passion.  
"Ready to go?" I asked. Call me nervous, but I wanted out of here before Duncan made another appearance in my life. Lance nodded carefully, looking as though he was going to fall over if he made too vigorous an effort. After another moment of getting his wind, we started toward the parking lot. He pulled up short before we got to the doors, though.  
"Just gotta hit the can first," Lance said. "Wait for me, will you?" I just looked at him until he rolled his eyes. "Never mind. I'll be out in a moment."  
I tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. Ever notice how hard it is to wait outside a john for someone and not look like you're waiting? I can never figure out why, either. I had bigger things to worry about, anyway. Namely that great blond moron coming down the hall in my direction with a pair of lackeys in tow.  
"Houston, we have a problem," I muttered to myself. My eyes darted up and down the hall, hoping I'd find a stray X-Man lingering about. The one time I could really have used one and there weren't any in the area. How ironic can you get? Come on Lance, I thought, don't take all afternoon in there. No luck there, either. I looked around for a teacher, a custodian, a counselor. Any adult. Boy, my luck really sucked today.  
I didn't like the look he was giving me, and for good reason. I'd seen a slightly more intense version on Logan at times, but not often. In fact most of the time I'd been on the opposing team and we'd been slaughtered when he had that look. It was obvious Duncan was out to hurt someone and I'd drawn the lucky number. Since I didn't really have a prayer of coming out of this in one piece, I didn't bother to rein in my mouth.  
"Hello again, Duncan," I said. When he didn't respond, I added, "The word you're looking for is 'hi.' It's not hard to say; try it. Go on, give it a shoUUUUUURK!" Duncan's hands twisted my collar. With hardly any effort, I found myself being held in the air in front of the guy. The really pathetic part is that the only thing I could do to fight back was to grab onto one of his arms with both of mine and try to heave him off. I might as well have been trying to give a rhinoceros a noogie for all the good it did.  
"What," I gasped, "have I done to you lately that's got you so damn pissed?"  
"We never finished our conversation from lunch," he said, easily holding me off the ground. "Tell me you're going to stay away from Jean. Now."  
I could hardly believe my ears. "Are you still harping on that subject? How many times have I got to tell you: I have no interest in Jean. Come on," I smiled weakly. "What's this really about?"  
Duncan looked back over his shoulder, snapping his head toward his two toadies. Apparently this was the signal to give him room to beat people into wallpaper paste because they both moved back. In desperation, I flicked my eyes up and down the hall again. We were alone. Just the four of us. Great.  
I looked back at Duncan as he pulled me closer, folding his arms as though he was curling weights. The one I'd grabbed a hold of felt like iron. I bet Coach didn't call Duncan a sissy. I was close enough to see blond stubble on his chin. He needed a shave already and hadn't even left the school yet. Guess he was just that much more man than the rest of the males of the species.  
"You're right," he said in a voice low enough that I was sure his two lookouts couldn't hear, "this isn't about Jean. This is about that Wagner kid, you little faggots. I've heard all about you two." His lips pulled back from his teeth in a grotesque parody of a grin. For the first time I was truly frightened. He waited for an answer without loosening his grip. He'd be waiting a hell of a long time, though, because I was shocked.  
Just how freakin' hard is it to keep a damn secret, Kurt Wagner?  
"I won't deny anything, Dunc," I said as calmly as I could. Hurry up, Lance. Maybe I could stall him with conversation, I thought. It was a nice idea, I guess. Too bad the message never made it to my mouth. "But before you turn me into a greasy spot on the floor, I'd like to point out that most homophobes are actually frightened because they've found something within themselves that they don't like. Tell me, which one of your friends have you found yourself attracted to?"  
It probably goes without saying that I'd have been better off saying nothing at all.  
He growled and banged me into the bank of lockers once, twice, three times. My lower back exploded in pain on the third impact. I think I managed to nail a combination dial with my stab wound. Good lord, that hurt like hell! My involuntary responses were to squeeze his arm a lot tighter and attempt to shriek at the top of my lungs. I'm sure you'd have done the same thing.  
The shriek died in my throat. I could barely breathe as it was; I certainly had no breath to spare on something as useless as a scream. I stared, wide-eyed, at Duncan's face. Black spots were beginning to cloud my vision and I could feel panic building. Did this stop me from making another smart-assed remark?  
Of course not.  
"You planning to kiss me and make this feel better?" I squeezed out between breaths.  
"Rot in hell, you little shit." Apparently that was a no. The next thing I knew, he slammed me back into the lockers with his full strength. I hit hard enough to see stars. In fact, I hit hard enough that my teeth hurt with the vibration. I felt a warm stickiness on the back of my skull and knew that he'd broken the skin. I giggled insanely. Good thing I was wearing a black shirt, huh?  
I could hear, dimly anyway, running footsteps coming toward us. Someone in dress shoes, which made it an adult. Thank God. Duncan ignored the man's warnings to 'put the kid down!' and slammed me into the lockers again. My arms were starting to go numb from the shoulders down thanks to the repeated impacts. If I was going to do something, it would have to be quick.  
Working by feel, since my vision was going loopy, I shifted my grip on his right arm. I grabbed his wrist and his elbow quicker than a thought and made my decision. He wasn't going to let go unless someone physically made him release me. That wasn't going to happen, so I'd have to do it myself. I inhaled as deeply as possible and then jerked the hand on his elbow in a quick motion inward. As expected, his elbow wasn't supposed to bend like that. The sound of his joint snapping was almost musical in my ears. Too bad it didn't work the way I'd planned.  
Duncan yowled in rage, and his broken arm dropped away from me. Oh crud. He was left-handed, not right-handed. There was more than enough strength in his left arm for him to crush me into the lockers one final time. My head whipped back, causing my ears to ring as it hit the locker. I had a moment to wish I'd joined Lance in the bathroom before my bladder let go. Oddly, I was almost more embarrassed by pissing my shorts than by being ground into hamburger. Strange what goes through your mind during times of stress.  
Everything happened in a rush after that. My vision was shot to hell and gone, but I felt a familiar brush of flannel and knew that Lance had entered the fray. There was shouting, but I wasn't really listening to any of it. My saviors somehow managed to get Duncan to release me and I slid down the locker door. It was an effort to get my arms up quickly enough to protect my head, but I managed. It still didn't stop me from blacking out. The last thing I remember was the ground rumbling underneath me as I hit the floor.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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To My Reviewers:  
  
Psygirl: If I kill off Magneto, who'd give the X-Men any grief? I mean, sooner or later the guy is going to make an appearance. (Chapter fourteen, maybe fifteen, in fact.) Otherwise there's no purpose for Xavier's creation of the X-Men in the first place, right? 


	12. A Strange Interlude

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please. Comments on reviews are at the bottom again.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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I grudgingly clawed back to wakefulness. It wasn't by choice, really. I'd been having the most awful nightmare in which Duncan Matthews used me for a punching bag. My room was dark; the clock on the nightstand was the only illumination other than the occasional flash of lightning. A storm raged outside the mansion. It was well after midnight, but I wasn't sure of the day. A shuffling noise from the direction of the chair grabbed my attention.  
"Ah, Mr. Maximoff," came Hank's voice in the darkness. "We have got to stop meeting like this."  
Oh that's right. It hadn't been a nightmare. My nervous system finally came online and pain came flooding back to me. I would have cringed except that it hurt to move. I guess there was one good thing to come out of being paralyzed. If my legs had been hurt nearly as much as the rest of my body, at least I couldn't feel them complaining.  
"Hi Hank," I croaked. Man, I sounded like I'd been through a garbage disposal. I flexed my hands. The pain in my arms wasn't too bad, so I started checking my various hurts, starting with the really nasty headache. I could feel stitches underneath my hair. Impressive. There were a couple abrasions on my neck from where my t-shirt had been ground into into the skin. I wasn't about to roll over to check out my back. The very thought of doing something that stupid made my muscles protest.  
Hank switched on the lamp near the bed. I squinted in the sudden light, wondering what other parts of me had been damaged. He leaned in close and took my head between his hands.  
"Open your eyes wider," he said. I didn't really have a choice. It was either do it or risk having him pry my eyes open. Since he had claws, I wasn't taking any chances. He grunted, apparently satisfied. "All right, how many fingers am I holding up?"  
"Two."  
He nodded and a tiny bit of concern bled away from his face. "Well, you don't seem to have a concussion," he said as he sat back down. "Mind telling me why I get to play doctor twice in four weeks?"  
Actually, yes, I did mind. Very much in fact. Duncan Matthews had beaten me to a pulp because he'd somehow found out I was dating Kurt. Exactly how he'd managed to get that information was beyond me, but it didn't change the fact that he's a narrow-minded bigot. Some people just can't handle modern relationships, I guess. I wondered if Logan told any of the other adults in the house. I didn't think so, but I hadn't thought Duncan would use me for a piñata, either. Best to play this safe.  
"I had a slight disagreement with one of the football players. No big deal." That's it, just shrug it off. Pretend for a minute that you don't have to bite back a whimper every time you move. Wishful thinking on my part. I yelped as pain shot up my back.  
"No big deal," Hank said with a shake of his head. "You're lucky nothing was broken."  
I smiled; it was an effort. "Lucky is my middle name." He just raised an eyebrow at my lame attempt at humor. "How long was I out this time?" I asked.  
"About nine hours," he told me. "Are you sure you don't want to tell me about this 'slight disagreement?'" Why was he so persistent about this subject? It was a character flaw I'd noticed on all of Xavier's brats. Their concern about my well-being was overwhelming on the best of days. There were times I felt like screaming at them to leave me alone.  
"It was just an argument that got out of hand, that's all." Take the hint, take the hint.  
"Does this have anything to do with Kurt?" he asked. I blinked. Maybe they ran a news story about the two of us on channel four. I couldn't think of any other reason why every single person knew about us.  
"What makes you think it has anything to do with," I choked back the phrase 'that little blue fuzzball' because there was a big blue fuzzball hanging on my words, "Kurt?" His eyes slid past me and a slightly amused expression came over his face. Apparently he wasn't going to answer me until I looked.  
Kurt was curled up on the far side of the bed under a comforter, fast asleep. His hair had fallen into his face and fluttered in front of his mouth as he breathed. He looked almost peaceful as he slept. Almost, because he looked like he was having a bad dream. I knew there was no point in evading Hank's question or lying to the guy to get him to lay off.  
"How long has he been here?" I asked quietly. It was a stretch, but I could just manage to brush Kurt's hair away from his face. Would you believe he actually nuzzled my hand like a cat?  
I heard Hank stand up. A moment later, he walked around to the other side of the bed. He shifted the sleeping guy a little closer to my hand. My aching muscles thanked him profusely. Kurt twitched a couple times and I could see his tail jerking beneath the blanket.  
"All afternoon," the big blue mutant said, shaking his head as he sat on the bed. "I had to give him a tranquilizer about four hours ago. He went hysterical as soon as Logan brought you home from the hospital."  
I didn't know what to say to that.  
"I guess you already know what the problem with Duncan was, then," I mumbled.  
Hank nodded. "Yes. Lance informed the Professor, who explained the situation to the rest of the staff." He grinned suddenly. "Ororo was particularly irate at that hooligan's actions."  
I glanced at the window. Rain was lashing against the glass, like it was trying to get in.  
"This is irate? What happens when someone really pisses her off?"  
"Ever heard of Hurricane Hugo?" I couldn't tell if Hank was joking or not, though I suspected he was quite serious.  
The door opened and we both swung our heads in that direction. My hand froze on Kurt's hair, but it was Logan who entered the room. I resumed running my fingers through his hair. Since everyone knew, there was no point in hiding anything. He closed the door quietly and walked in. He glanced at Kurt but didn't say a word. That was a change. The guy was one of the most opinionated people I knew. Something in Logan's expression troubled me. He was grinning, for one. It didn't reach his eyes, either, and they glittered with an icy satisfaction.  
"You idiot," he told me without preamble. The one nice thing about Logan was that he never, ever felt the need to sugar-coat anything.  
"Nice to see you too. Why do you look like a cat with a really fat mouse in his claws?"  
Logan snorted. Hank had a pained look on his face, as though I was juggling hand grenades. That probably wasn't too far off the mark, either. Sparring with Logan, even with words, was always a dangerous proposition.  
"Charles just got off the phone with Murdock. That Matthews kid is history," Logan said to Hank. I looked at the blue guy, raising my eyebrows.  
"Mr. Murdock is the lawyer on retainer for the Institute. Charming fellow, though how he manages to practice law while blind is beyond me," he explained. "He filed a grievance with the school board less than an hour after we got the call from the hospital." Oh. Yeah, that made sense. Detention seemed a little tame for a guy who beat up disabled people. Personally, I'd have pushed him in front of a bus, but it wasn't my decision either. Expulsion. Hmm. That had a nice ring to it, I guess. I think I could live with whatever the Xavier was doing.  
"Good. I hope Superjock shrivels up and dies as a result," I said with a trace of my customary bitterness. Logan laughed out loud at that. Hank just shook his head. Maybe he was one of those people who believed in turning the other cheek. That would be ironic, given his mutation. There was a reason he was called Beast, you know.  
The big guy rose from the bed. The mattress rose with an audible squeal. I guess the box spring wasn't designed for a five-hundred pound person. My own hundred-pounds-and-change didn't count in that equation. Hank yawned widely.  
"Logan has the next shift. Have a good night, Pietro."  
"G'night."  
He shuffled off to his own room and bed, leaving me alone with Logan and Kurt. My furry little friend - no, boyfriend - didn't move as the door clicked shut. Neither did Logan, come to that. He just leaned against the, what was the word, armoire watching me with his arms crossed. I stared right back at him, stroking Kurt's hair. The rain spattering against the window was the only sound in the room. The silence grew quite thick and after a while I just couldn't take it any more.  
"What are you looking at?" I asked. My voice tried to crack as I said it, but I managed to squelch that before it happened. Whoever decided that puberty and high school should happen simultaneously was a real sadistic person.  
Logan shrugged. "Nothin', kiddo." He jerked his chin at Kurt. "I don't need to tell you to be careful, do I?"  
I headed that conversation off before it could get started.  
"Thanks, but I already had The Talk."  
Logan nodded and dropped into the chair Hank had vacated. He pushed his hair out of his face and ran a hand over his stubble.  
"You get any more crap about this, you come running to me, alright?" I raised an eyebrow and shot him an amused look. His eyes swept over the lump of blankets covering my legs. "You know what I mean."  
I sighed, feeling suddenly drained. "Yeah, I know. I wasn't expecting Duncan to flip out, ok? It just sort of happened. It's not a big deal," I said. Yes, I was repeating myself. That's how tired I was. Not too tired to run my mouth off, though. "It's not like you guys really give a damn, so can you please drop the fake concern?"  
Logan growled at me. That's the only way to describe it. It sounded like a two-hundred pound pit bull was in my room and looking at me like I'd just stepped on its toe. It occurred to me that snapping at a guy who was programmed to be the perfect assassin was probably not the best way to extend my life expectancy.  
"We don't give a damn?" he snarled in a low voice. I turned to look at him slowly, the way you'd act around a rabid animal. He started ticking off on his fingers in short, jerky motions. I could tell I'd managed to get under his skin. Great. "Scott blames himself for not being around to protect you. Sean hadda talk him outta going after that Matthews bastard when he heard the news. Lance actually hadda be restrained from breaking the guy's one good arm. Bobby locked himself in his room all during supper. Said the whole incident made him too sick to eat. Jean spent all afternoon usin' words I ain't heard since I was in the Navy. I can think of four of you kids who've been strung out and in tears since school let out. All because we don't give a damn." All right, he had a point. I held up my hand to say so, but he ignored me.  
Logan jerked his thumb at the window. "Ororo," he bore in relentlessly, "hasn't been able to control her temper or her powers since she heard. There's a severe thunderstorm warning from Atlantic City up to Canada because she 'doesn't give a damn' about you." He pointed at Kurt. "And I don't think I gotta say a word about him." As if on cue, Kurt's tail snaked out from under the comforter and curled around my waist in a kind of bizarre hug. I looked down at the fuzzy blue appendage, at a loss for words. Astonishing, I know. Don't tell anyone.  
My heart sank with each sentence. By the time he finished, I felt like a complete loser. I hadn't realized I had that many friends around this place. I blinked watery eyes and swallowed hard. He'd certainly given me something to think about.  
"That said," Logan went on in a more conversational tone, "yer excused from classes tomorrow, but since yer doing so well you get to go back on Friday. No arguing, bub." I raised my hand in surrender. Arguing with the man was an exercise in futility. Not to mention dangerous. He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms behind his head, settling down for the night. "Lemme know if you need anything," he added as he stretched out his legs.  
A few minutes later he started to snore. His nose was slightly crooked, having been broken one or more times in the past. It made his snoring sound like a Mack truck shifting gears. I lay there for a long time, one arm around Kurt, the other playing with the edge of the sheet. After a while, I shut the light off. It didn't make anything less complicated. I don't know how long I listened to the rain on my window and Wolverine's rumbling, but it made me drowsy enough to doze for a while.  
  
Pietro, my mother said, it's time to get up. I burrowed my head underneath the pillow. If I didn't have to go to school today then I didn't have to get out of bed, right? Fair's fair, after all.  
"Go 'way. I don't wanna get up," I slurred, doing my best to go back to sleep.  
If you don't wake up soon, I'm going to make it rain in here until you do, she answered. My mother could be so strict some...wait a moment. Rain? I blinked all the way awake and peered around the room. Logan and Kurt were gone, though the abundance of cobalt blue hair on the top of the coverlet indicated that I hadn't dreamed the events of that morning. Instead, Ms. Munroe was sitting on the edge of the bed next to me.  
"Good morning," she said.  
I checked the clock. Yes, it was morning. Too early for my taste, but oh well.  
"Morning," I replied with a yawn. The movement made my body ache and the yawn hitched halfway through as I fought down a yelp. I saw that she'd brought a tray of food up to my room. How thoughtful. "I don't suppose there's any aspirin on that is there?" I asked, pointing to the breakfast tray.  
"No," she said, "but if you need any, I'll be happy to get some for you."  
I thought that over. Painkillers sounded great, but breakfast trumped even that desire.  
"I'll let you know after I eat," I said. Getting vertical was an exercise in pain suppression, but I managed not to cry out or curse, so it was all good. It wasn't any less difficult with assistance, but I have to admit that I felt less pained after I'd been propped up against the headboard and a couple pillows.  
Someone had pulled out all the stops for this meal, I saw as she removed the cover from the tray. The sheer variety of food was impressive. Eggs, bacon, hash browns, cereal, yogurt, you name it - it was there. My stomach tried to figure out how to escape and get to the tray on its own. I picked up a slice of bacon and nibbled on it, willing my gut to behave. Mm. Crunchy.  
"Thanks," I told her. "I'm really hungry for some reason."  
The bed moved as she plucked an apple off the tray. For a fleeting instant I considered taking it back, but there was plenty to go around. That should give an idea of just how much food she'd piled in front of me as well as how hungry I was. One less apple wouldn't hurt. She crunched into it, chewed, swallowed.  
"Lance said you hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday," she said. Good point. "I thought you'd appreciate a full meal." I'd spent several years with foster parents in the row house next door to the Daniels family. Ms. Munroe had visited her sister's family every weekend and had always made a huge breakfast on Saturday mornings. Before Evan and I had our falling- out, I'd been over to his house more often than not and had come to like his aunt's cooking. Her scrambled eggs, I'd learned, were legendary all over the neighborhood. The woman loved to cook and it showed.  
I inspected the eggs in question, which confirmed my thoughts.  
"Thanks for making this," I said around a mouthful of bacon.  
She smiled at me and it was like looking at a memory. "You always enjoyed my cooking. Why should now be any different?" I toasted her with a glass of orange juice. She had a point.  
"It's delicious. Thanks," I said again. Believe it or not, I wasn't lying for a change. "I take it you're to be my keeper for the day?" I asked, changing the subject.  
She nodded. "It's been a very long time since I've spent any time with you. We used to have a lot of fun, remember?" That was true. Several summers ago she had helped my foster parents rearrange their garden. We - Ms. Munroe, Evan and myself - had spent the entire summer digging and planting. For breaks, we'd all take the subway into the city or wander around Brooklyn. Contrary to popular belief, it's not necessarily a dangerous place. Tough, maybe, but hardly dangerous. My guardians liked the fact that I was spending so much time outdoors. I was a bit of a wallflower in those days, now that I recall. That had been the summer before my speed had started to manifest.  
"That was a long time ago, Ms. Munroe," I said, uncomfortable for some reason.  
"True. You were very different back then," she sighed. Her phrasing bugged me until I realized that she'd already been an X-Man at that point. Small world, eh? "And please, call me Ororo. Everybody else does."  
I brightened. "Sure, Ororo." It sounded odd to hear her name off my own lips. "So what's the day look like? Anything interesting planned?"  
She took another bite of her apple. "I thought I'd show you my garden, if you'd like. Other than that, I have nothing in mind."  
I was quickly beginning to appreciate how sedate life in this house could be. The boarding house had always been a study in chaos. Xavier's Institute was as far from that as you could get. I always had the urge to speak in a quiet voice whenever I was around the house, because it reminded me of a museum. Or an asylum. Depended on my mood. It was all starting to grow on me, though.  
"Sounds great," I said. Her smile was infectious and I couldn't help but smile back. Yeah, these people were definitely starting to grow on me.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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To My Reviewers:  
  
Sailor X1: I promise. :) Let me know how fun it is. As for cockiness, I can never have too much. Frankly, I've learned a lot of nasty nicknames as a triple threat to the local population. (I happen to be a gay, atheistic Yankee in the Deep South. Go figure.) It never fails to amaze me how degenerate our ultracivilized society can be at times. Anyway, the Jean/Pietro animosity comes naturally. It IS an annoying nickname, and the fact that she uses his brain as a library is probably irritating in the extreme. Have to admit that it's fun to write. I'm sure the three-way date will prove amusing as it will feature the aforementioned spat between Amanda and Kurt. A better question is 'Will Kurt ever find out about Rahne?' I think Pietro is going to try to keep that under wraps for some reason. We'll find out why Wanda is staying away from her brother soon. Kurt didn't tell anyone; there is another leak yet to be revealed. Pietro merely jumped to conclusions. Give him a little credit. He was having the stuffing beaten out of him at the time. Lance's thoughts on the situation will come out, no pun intended, soon enough. Yeesh, this response was slightly lengthy. I'll get back to writing now. :) Keep responding. I have almost as much fun 'talking' with my reviewers as I do writing chapters for them to read.  
  
Storm-Pietro: Nice to hear you're still enjoying this. :D  
  
Moda: Ah, I swoon in your adoration. I'm generally not too worried about getting anyone down perfectly, but it's nice to hear I'm managing anyway. Duncan is indeed a jerk-off. I generally update a couple times a week. Expect more soon. Mindless dribble doesn't bother me. If you've found something on which to comment, then by all means do so. I read all reviews and take comments into consideration. It generally doesn't change my mind, but I do consider them anyway. ;)  
  
Ultramatt17: Less of a mean streak than a twisted sense of humour, then. I know that if I were the world's most powerful telepath I'd probably do the same thing. Yes, it was an intense chapter. It didn't turn out at all like I envisioned when I wrote it, either. Chapters eleven and twelve were meant to be filler until I got around to the whole Friday-date storyline, but Duncan showed up and started raising hell. Odd how characters can get away with that sometimes. The fallout from this should be interesting. As for compelling, edge-of-the-seat storytelling, maybe it's because I'm looking at it from the viewpoint of the guy who wrote the bloody thing, eh? I've always found other people's works more exciting than my own. Anyway, thanks for the compliments. 


	13. A Difficult Date Part One

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please. Comments on reviews are at the bottom again.  
As a side note, this may be my last update for a while. I'm going to get kicked out of my apartment if I cannot come up with rent money in the next week or so and since I'm currently out of a job, it doesn't look like that's going to happen. :( I may be out on the street by this time next week.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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Friday went by a little too quickly - even for me. School, for instance, sped past almost without notice. I honestly don't remember a thing about it. All I can say for certain is that I didn't get beaten to a pulp. I'm sure I'd have remembered that. I was too preoccupied with the Rahne/Kurt situation to pay attention to anything else.  
Ah, I hear you ask, but wasn't the problem solved? Was I not going to take Rahne to an early dinner and still go with Kurt to the concert? No, as it turned out, I was not.  
It boiled down to a communications problem. I forgot to tell her I had an early date planned and she neglected to tell me that between piano lessons and drama club she was booked until six-thirty. There was no way I'd be able to take her to Delphini's, the new (and currently only) upscale Italian restaurant in Bayside and still make the concert. This was a bit of a snag, to put it lightly.  
To make matters worse, she'd overheard Bobby telling Amara that he'd heard from Sam that Kurt asked the Professor if he could borrow the van to go to the concert. At least I think that was the chain. I swear, sometimes it was like living in a house with a dozen siblings. The gossip mill at the Institute was well developed. Anyway, as it turned out, Rahne happened to really like Savage Garden. Would you believe she asked Kurt if he could get a couple more tickets? She thought it would be a great idea to double date with him and Amanda. I wish I was kidding.  
It goes without saying that I just about had a stroke when he invited her along.  
"That concert's been sold out for weeks, man," I told him in a waspish tone. "What were you thinking?" I'd managed to corner the little blue guy after school. Lance had offered him a ride home, at my suggestion, so that I could have this particular conversation. You might say we were taking the scenic route back to the Institute. I wanted to get this out of my system.  
Kurt shrugged, hair flapping in the wind. Lance's jeep is a great way to get around except for the occasions when it rains. The two of us were sitting in the back, talking over the heavy metal Lance had cranked up on the stereo.  
"Ve don't need extra tickets," he patiently explained. "I reserved a box." He could be so oblivious sometimes. Too much hanging around Summers, I thought.  
"No, I mean asking Rahne to come on our date!" Possessive? Me? Nah. "My God, what were you thinking?!" I seethed. As if having to be on a date with that Amanda witch wasn't bad enough. He shrugged again. I had to physically restrain myself from shaking him like a doll. That's how irritated I was. The fact that I didn't said volumes about my self- control.  
"So vhat? You asked her out vithout knowing about the concert. I'm just trying to help fix the situation."  
"Let me lay things out for you here, buddy," I growled. He just wasn't getting it. "You and me are going out. You and Amanda are going out. I've asked Rahne on a date." He still looked blank. "Don't you see how freakin' complicated this is getting?!" That was a little loud. Lance looked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. I shook my head at him and turned back to my problem.  
Kurt started to shrug and I clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Don't. Do. That. Again," I said slowly and carefully. I felt my ears twitch, a nervous tic that's irked me all my life. Give me a break. I was tense, all right?  
"I still don't see the problem here, Pietro," he told me.  
Obviously.  
"Does it seem at all strange to you that my boyfriend is helping me work out a date with my possible girlfriend?" I snapped. His eyes widened. Bingo. Getting him to understand anything is just a matter of phrasing it correctly.  
"Oh heavens," he said. Not the phrase I'd have used, but children might be reading this.  
His face screwed up in concentration, an expression I'd grown fond of. He just looked so darn cuddly when he did that. Most of the time, anyway. I shook my head. I definitely liked him better without the hologram. What can I say? I'm a hair and eyes man and he had fine hair and gorgeous eyes. The hologram didn't do him justice.  
I shook my head, getting rid of that distracting line of thought.  
He sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you'd be upset about this." Bother. Try as I might, I just couldn't stay mad at him.  
"Ah, forget about it," I said, slipping my arm around him. "What are we going to do about this, though?"  
"About vhat?" he asked, raising his eyebrow at me with a sidelong glance. "Your double - triple, vhatever - date tonight or your hangup about this whole thing?" There was a trace of amusement in his voice. I hate it when people enjoy my discomfort. "Pretend it's not a date," he went on. "Just four friends going to a concert. You can take Rahne out another time and I'll take you out tomorrow night."  
I tried to find the hole in his suggestion, I really did. Trouble is, I couldn't come up with one. That made it hard to keep this argument going. "And Amanda?"  
He shifted slightly. "Ve don't need to tell her this isn't a date, ja?"  
Good point. I leaned into him, through with conversation for a while. Maybe this would work out. Hopefully.  
"When did you get so smart?" I asked with a smirk.  
"German character. Ve're a very practical people."  
  
"Rahne?" Amanda asked. "That British exchange student?" Kurt had just pulled up to the school. Thanks to time constraints, we had to pick her up and then burn rubber to get to Carnegie Hall on time. Not literally, of course, but it would be a close thing either way. Parking in the city is a real pain. Most of the extra time would be spent finding a parking garage in which the van would be safe. Something told me that Xavier wouldn't be happy with us if the van was stolen. Call it a hunch.  
"Scottish," I corrected. Amanda leaned around the seat to glower at me. She'd insisted on sitting up front with Kurt. I didn't object, primarily for reasons of health. I'd already gotten smeared once this week and didn't want a second helping. The fact that I was doped up to the eyeballs with codeine probably helped my attitude.  
I'd made the mistake of complaining about various aches in front of Doctor MacTaggart, who apparently hadn't been told that my metabolism is wonky. She'd made me swallow an entire 800 milligram tablet of Tylenol-3. For me, it was like popping four of the darn things. As you can imagine, I was feeling really, really good. That did wonders for my mood. If she wanted to sit up front, fine with me.  
I returned her glare with a shrug. "If you call her British, you'll get a lecture. Trust me on this one." Having had that lecture from Rahne, I felt it my duty to warn people in advance. It wasn't a pleasant experience. I guess some people can be touchy about such insignificant things like nationality. Weird, huh?  
"And why is she coming along on this date, anyway?" she demanded. "I can't believe he didn't tell me she was coming along until he picked me up!"  
I spread my hands, giving her my most innocent look.  
"Come on, you know Kurt," I said, truthfully. What came next was pure speculation on my part. "If he can make someone happy, he does. Maybe she likes Savage Garden and he thought it would cheer her up to bring her along." I had no idea if he would do something like that. Sure we were dating, but I still didn't know that much about him. Maybe I liked the air of mystery that surrounded him. A better bet was that I didn't want to get too close to someone.  
Amanda's eyes softened, which was a pretty good sign that she'd bought it. She turned around, sliding back into her seat just as the other two came out of the school. Rahne was looking surprisingly cheerful, despite having spent the last twelve hours in that building. Better her than me. Despite the fact that junior year is supposed to be the toughest, I'd been bored silly both days I'd been in class. The sooner I graduated the better.  
Rahne tossed her backpack into the seat behind us, dropping a stack of books on top of it. Her outfit made me wonder just what on earth she was rehearsing. If the black mini-skirt was any more mini, it would have been a belt. The blood-red halter top didn't help her image. Her reddish- brown hair looked wholly out of place, bobbed into a rather conservative cut that just didn't match the rest. It was, in a word, interesting.  
"Hi Amanda," she said as she got into the van. "Hi Pietro."  
"Hello," Amanda said from the front seat. Her voice was carefully neutral. Maybe she hadn't believed me after all.  
"You do realize that where we're going, you're going to stand out like a sore thumb," I said, nodding at her outfit. Rahne looked down and, I'm not kidding, adjusted her chest underneath the shirt.  
"It's no' that bad, is it?" she asked.  
"I've seen hookers with more modesty."  
Kurt suppressed a snort as he started the van. Between that and Rahne's horrified look, I realized that I'd been an idiot. It should tell you how shocking the outfit was that I didn't realize that the moment I said anything. I tried to salvage the situation. "So, uh, what musical are you guys doing this year?"  
It must have worked, because the frown disappeared from her face.  
"'Grease,'" she said, tapping the skirt. I looked a little closer and saw a small dog embroidered on it.  
"Wait, don't tell me. That's supposed to be a poodle skirt." The doubt must have sounded in my voice because she nodded, smoothing the fabric.  
"Aye." Thing is, that musical is set in the nineteen-fifties. "It's an updated version," she explained. No kidding. If a girl went around wearing that back then, who knew what would happen to her?  
"Let me know the date. If everyone is dressed like that, I've got to see it," I said with a mock leer. Rahne laughed. It was one of those high, bubbly ones that echo. Especially in close spaces. I smiled back at her. She responded by moving a little closer to me and leaning on my shoulder. After a moment's hesitation, I put my arm around her.  
"Speaking of clothing, Pietro, what made you wear that tonight?"  
Amanda's question sounded innocent, but I couldn't help but be paranoid. I looked down at myself. Black Levi's tastefully buttoned. A midnight blue, collarless button-down shirt. Black sneakers, though I could have worn clown shoes for all the walking I was going to be doing tonight. I thought it looked fine.  
"What's wrong with what I've got on?" I asked in surprise. I glanced at Rahne, who shrugged and nodded, as if to indicate that I looked fine.  
"You're dressed like a bruise," Amanda said. "All that black and blue makes you look splotchy." This was news to me. I tried to make light of it, sure that she was just picking on me out of spite.  
"I've got a chalky complexion. Everything I wear makes me look splotchy. Besides," I said as I unbuttoned the shirt, "if you want to see what a bruise looks like on me, I'll show you." I saw Kurt's eyes flicker up into the rear-view mirror and I frowned at him. "Keep your eyes on the road," I told him. "This strip show isn't for you."  
His eyes told me quite plainly that he wished that it was for him. I squelched the urge to blush. It took an effort.  
Amanda pulled down sun visor and flipped open the mirror on the back. Her eyes went wide as I pulled my shirt open and bared my chest. I don't know what surprised her more. The extensive bruising, most of which looked a lot worse than they felt, or my ribs, which were clearly outlined underneath the mottling. I've a bony chest. There's no nice way of putting it. No matter how hard I try to put muscle on my upper body, it just doesn't work. I've learned to live with thinking of myself as slender or, if necessary, petite. Logan, who had the onerous duty of helping me with a bath the previous night, was a little more plain-spoken: he said I looked starved. I spread the shirt wide, giving her an eyeful.  
I avoided Amanda's surprised look. Since I didn't want to see Rahne's expression either, I settled for looking out the window instead. Unfortunately, Kurt had been keeping pace with the car to the right of us and my movement drew the eyes of the little old lady behind the wheel. She and I exchanged a startled look for a moment and I realized how ridiculous it probably looked to her. A moment later, she gave me a thumbs-up, flashed me a full set of dentures, and changed lanes, heading for the exit.  
I'd just been hubba-hubba-ed by a woman old enough to remember the Depression. Ew.  
"What happened?"  
Amanda's voice pulled my attention back into the van. I carefully buttoned the shirt back up, still avoiding her eyes.  
"The black-and-purple ones are from the..." I trailed off, unsure just how much Amanda knew about the X-Men and their after-school activities. For all I knew, she'd have a kitten if she knew that our boyfriend (man that sounded weird) was on a team of do-gooder mutants. To my relief, Kurt picked up almost without missing a beat.  
"...accident that paralyzed his legs." Amanda looked over at Kurt for a moment. I took the opportunity to shake my head at Rahne's questioning glance. She nodded. That was a close call.  
"The rest are because Duncan graciously offered to decorate whatever parts of me were still intact," I said, leading the conversation away from my 'accident.' I wish I'd come up with a better lie. If she asked questions later, I'd have to fake it and that would be awkward.  
"Duncan? Duncan Matthews did that?" she asked quickly.  
That wasn't really the reaction I was expecting, so I nodded warily. "Yeah. A sort of welcome back to school gift, you might say." Something about Amanda's expression troubled me. For an instant, I thought she was about to speak. Then her eyes flickered over to Rahne, who was listening to the whole conversation, and she shut her mouth, turning back around. I had a niggling feeling that I'd find out why she looked so alarmed soon enough.  
  
"What's going on, Pietro?" Rahne asked quietly.  
We'd actually managed to find a parking space in a reasonably well- lit area with lots of police officers around. The odds were in our favor that it would still be there when the concert let out. I honestly wondered if we were in the right city. One just didn't find good parking spaces in New York.  
Kurt and Amanda were walking perhaps ten feet in front of us. Rahne had offered to push me around and Kurt hadn't objected. He'd told me earlier that he hadn't had a chance to be alone with Amanda all week outside of school. Maybe he was jumping on the long walk from the parking garage as a way to rectify that. Either way, he left me in Rahne's care with that infectious grin of his and a promise whispered in my ear that I'd get my 'alone time' later on. I can't put into words just how warm that made me feel inside. He might be dating two people at once, but he was very meticulous about keeping them both happy. Naturally I wondered when the other shoe would drop, but then I'm a suspicious kind of guy.  
I realized I was checking out Kurt's butt and dragged my gaze away, looking over my shoulder at Rahne. He might be able to manage two relationships at once without breaking a sweat, but I just wasn't that good. Heck, if he pulled it off then Casanova wasn't that good.  
"What's going on with what? You've lost me," I said, still slightly distracted.  
"Well, fer starters ye've been eyein' Kurt all night." That sobered me up really quick. Oh man, was it that obvious? How the heck was I supposed to respond to that statement?  
I lied, of course.  
"It's his hologram thingy. I've been trying to figure out where his tail goes when he turns it on," I said in my most sincere voice. "My best guess so far is under his shirt somewhere."  
"Yer so full of it, yer eyes should be brown, no' blue."  
"You're right. You're absolutely right. It's probably under the pants. Why didn't I think of that earlier?"  
Rahne growled and it sounded for all the world like she'd shapeshifted into a wolf-man-woman-thingy-whatever right there on the street. She hadn't, but the sound was uncanny - not to mention unsettling. Made me wish I had a piece of silver on me. Intellectually I knew she wasn't a werewolf in the folklore sense, but I'd have felt safer for some reason.  
"So I guess I've been a little obvious, huh?"  
"Just a wee bit, aye."  
I smiled faintly. "Think you'd believe me if I said it was too long a story to get into right now?"  
Three seconds on the clock; Maximoff has the ball. He shoots.  
"Shorten it," she said in a firm voice.  
And misses.  
I considered telling her everything. How I'd figured out that Kurt liked me, how he'd finally asked me out, how Amanda had barged into my room and how she'd accepted that fact that he was dating both of us at once. Yeah, I gave it serious thought. A whole three, maybe five seconds in fact before mentally giving up. There just wasn't a way to shorten it that didn't sound like the script from a particularly strange chick flick.  
"How open are you to the possibility of a sort of loose relationship?"  
The wheelchair jerked to a stop. I had to scramble to keep from falling and looking like a complete ass. Amanda heard the commotion and looked back. I waved them ahead, not wanting an audience. Bad enough that I had to do this as it was.  
Rahne came around in front of me. It was a nice change from having to crane my neck to see her. I should point out that now that we were in the city, her outfit wasn't that much more outlandish than some of the ones I could see. Downright conservative compared to a couple.  
She didn't look happy and it wasn't because of her clothing, either.  
"How loose are ye talkin'?"  
"Loose enough to accept that I've already got a boyfriend?" She nodded as though it wasn't that much of a shock. Big surprise there. Someone at the Institute couldn't keep their mouth shut. When I found out who, I'd...I'd...I don't know, sic Logan on them or something.  
"Yer tellin' me he's," she flipped her head at Kurt, "goin' out wi' the both o' ye at once?"  
"Yeah. His organizational skills are off the charts.  
"And ye asked me out before or after the two o' ye hooked up?"  
I felt a flush start to creep up my neck. "Um. After."  
She shook her head. "So I'm t' be goin' out wi' ye, while yer goin' out wi' Kurt, while he's goin' out wi' Amanda?"  
I looked at her helplessly. "Well, uh..."  
"ARE YE BLOODY MAD?!" Rahne demanded. People around us were starting to stare as they walked past. We really could have picked a better place to have this conversation. The corner of Seventh Avenue and 59th was a little too public for my taste. Central Park was just over that fence, and her voice had attracted the attention of quite a few people feeding the pigeons.  
"I take it that's a no?"  
"Oh, aye. Ye got tha' right." Thankfully, she started us moving again. "Wha' were ye thinkin', ye git?"  
Ironic choice of words. I'd said the same thing to Kurt less than two hours earlier.  
"I wasn't thinking. That's the problem," I muttered. She either didn't hear me or didn't care to respond. Can't say I blamed her, either. If the situation had been reversed, I'd have left her to fend for herself back at 59th. She must have had more patience than I would have. Or she didn't want to get grounded for losing me in the wilds of New York. Probably the latter.  
We caught up with Amanda two blocks later, outside the Hall. Kurt was inside dealing with the seating arrangements. I looked at the people around us and began to feel underdressed. We were surrounded by people in evening wear.  
Amanda noticed my look. "It's a benefit concert," she told us.  
"I see."  
"If ye'll both excuse me," Rahne said as we all tried to fade into the background, "I've t' find the ladies room." I could tell she was irked at me from the way she pointedly avoided looking my way. What was I supposed to do now? She disappeared into the building without a backward glance, leaving me alone with Amanda.  
"You two have a nice chat?" Amanda asked. Her voice was loaded to the gills with dark amusement.  
"No," I sulked. I can't believe she actually laughed at me. I didn't bother to dignify that with any response other than a glare.  
A few minutes later, Kurt came out and fetched us inside to our box. No one said a word to one another. This was going to be a long night.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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To My Reviewers:  
  
Sailor X1: Thanks again. I wasn't aware of the realism element in my stories. Thanks for pointing that out. No, only the staff (Ororo, Logan, Sean, Moira, and Hank) was informed after Lance told the Professor. He kept the information from the kids because he felt that if Pietro and Kurt wanted to keep a low profile that was their right. As far as most of the kids are concerned, Duncan is just a jock with a mean streak. I say 'most' because trying to keep secrets when a score of people live in the same house is like trying to fly by flapping your arms. The leak is coming soon. Pietro gets himself into deep holes without trying. His life is a shambles, so his normal control over events around him is constantly eluding his grasp. Lance will get as much 'screen time' as everyone else, which is to say an appearance every other chapter or so. Wanda is coming soon, though maybe not in the way you'd expect. Regarding the whole society paragraph...I don't really use the word civilized when I describe life in the place I live. It's too generous. This place is Redneck Central and there are days when I wish shrapnel grenades were a viable option for population control.  
  
Ultramatt17: Logan is always a hoot to write. He's a bundle of attitude in a five-foot-five package that just appeals to me for some reason. Probably because his first reaction to trouble is to chop it off at the knees. Yes, I've written Murdock as the lawyer for a reason. Expect him next chapter, in fact, or perhaps the tail end of this one. Now, the way I imagine Pietro's mind working in regards to Lance is probably best described with the revelation that Pietro is a mild sociopath. People aren't really real to him, except as a means to an end. He's learning differently, obviously, but has a long way to go. Of course Lance cares about him. Pietro is too shortsighted to see that, however. When it comes to feelings and people, he's out of his element if there is nothing Machiavellian involved. That's why I've written such a sarcastic streak into him. It's his usual defense. Wanda will appear shortly. Probably in a couple chapters. You'll hear about her in the next update, but actually see her later. Remember that I'm not chronicling Pietro's entire day (despite my writing style on occasion). He's managed to make an impression on the people in the house, even if I haven't written it, so the chance of others being upset over his most recent beating isn't entirely impossible.  
  
Mizzan: I'm glad I have that effect on people. It will indeed most likely end up with a firm Kurt/Pietro pairing, though as you can imagine it will be a long, rocky road. Personally, I'd use something harder than a frying pan on Duncan. A baseball bat, perhaps. More devastating.  
  
Here's a nibbler in case you guys are hungry for Wanda, incidentally: she did go after Duncan - and succeeded. More to come. ;) 


	14. A Difficult Date Part Two

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please. Comments on reviews are at the bottom again.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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Kurt hadn't been kidding when he said he rented a box. I half- expected some guy in a black suit and microphone to loiter around outside. You know, 'Welcome to the theatre, Mr. Lincoln.' That sort of thing. Since this was a benefit concert, I had to assume that the balconies had been auctioned off for one charity or another. There was a ceiling on the student credit cards, so it was the only way Kurt could have afforded this display of opulence.  
We all settled in, making ourselves comfortable. The concert wasn't set to start for another twenty minutes. By some miracle, we'd figured out how to squeeze my wheelchair in between a couple of richly-upholstered seats. Rahne sat to my left, still irked at me. Great. Kurt was on my other side with Amanda on his far side. I think he manipulated the seating arrangements into that particular lineup on purpose. Worked for me. The codeine was still giving me one heck of a buzz. Even with Rahne mad at me, I was determined to enjoy myself.  
Amanda and Kurt were chatting about something or other that happened at school. The lack of conversation on the other end of the box was a bit uncomfortable. I decided to make an attempt to apologize to Rahne. It was an unusual decision for me, but I figured I'd give it a shot.  
"Look, Rahne," I managed to get out before she rounded on me.  
"If yer goin' t' say yer sorry, Pietro Maximoff, ye can take yer apology an' stow it!"  
Well, that worked out well, didn't it? I opened my mouth to try again and was interrupted by a voice from behind.  
"Pietro Maximoff? From the Xavier Institute?" Darn it all. I twisted around in my seat to get a look at the newcomer.  
The first thing that struck me was the fact that he was wearing little round John Lennon-style glasses with darkened lenses. Indoors. Nice fashion statement, that. Then I saw the cane in his hand: a rather fancy polished black oak deal with a brass dragon head for the handgrip. He was looking at Rahne, sort of. Actually his gaze was fixed just above her and I knew he was blind. I guess the stereotypical white cane wasn't fancy enough for this concert. It certainly wouldn't have gone with his Armani suit. The only incongruous item was a gold tie-tack in the shape of a pitchfork. It looked odd and yet at the same time it felt like it belonged there. He'd definitely come dressed for this, unlike the four of us kids who were all staring at the guy.  
I cleared my throat and I saw the man's ear flick before he swung his head in my direction. He was blind, right? So why did it seem like he was looking right at me?  
"Who's asking?"  
Kurt elbowed me in the ribs, managing to hit one of the more recent bruises. Ouchie.  
The guy stepped into our box, letting the curtain fall back into place behind him. He walked around us to lean on the railing. I noticed that he didn't use the cane at all. It seemed to be more of a prop. Either he came to Carnegie Hall a lot or there was more to him than was obvious at a glance. Maybe he was mutant. That would certainly explain Xavier's interest in the man.  
"Matt Murdock," he said. "Perhaps Professor Xavier has mentioned me. I'm on retainer for his organization." The name sounded familiar. Oh, right, right, right. This was that lawyer guy who torpedoed Duncan. That made him all right in my book. I flashed him a huge grin before realizing he couldn't see it.  
"Hiya Mr. Murdock," I said, still grinning. "Thanks for handling Duncan." To my surprise, he responded with a smile of his own. Darn, he was good.  
He 'looked' at each of the others. "Would you mind if I borrowed Mr. Maximoff for a moment or two?" he asked.  
"Only if ye promise t' keep him," Rahne mumbled just loud enough for me to hear. Mr. Murdock's head cocked ever so slightly in her direction and I knew that he'd somehow heard her words. Right, I thought, so he's got supersensitive hearing. Maybe he does the whole echolocation thing like a sort of humanoid bat too.  
"Fine vith me," Kurt said. "Do you vant help vith the vheelchair?" he asked, ignoring Amanda's dirty look.  
"No thank you, Mr. Wagner." He hung the cane over his wrist and started pulling my chair away. I saw Kurt's jaw drop. Apparently the guy knew all of Xavier's students. He'd certainly done his homework. "I believe I can manage."  
Mr. Murdock pushed me along the hallway toward the second-floor lobby. I had to admit I was impressed. We managed to make it to the large open area without running into a single piece of furniture. He sat down on a plush couch and leaned forward.  
"Charles asked me to chat with you," he said. This was news. Xavier hadn't mentioned this to me at all.  
"Is this about Duncan's attempt to paint the lockers with me?"  
"Actually, no. He's concerned that you're not adapting very well to your change in mobility and thought you'd appreciate a chance to talk to someone outside the Institute about it." Oh, I see. Xavier was doing that whole 'looking out for my well-being' thing again. Man I hated when he did that. It really bugged me that he felt the need to interfere in my life more than necessary. I wasn't a vegetable, darn it.  
"Jeez, doesn't he ever stop?" I grumbled.  
Mr. Murdock laughed, sounding genuinely amused. "Not in my experience."  
"Were you one of his students too?" The unspoken meaning, of course, was 'are you a mutant' but saying that out loud in public would likely cause trouble. I'd had enough of that to last a while.  
"No, I wasn't and no, I'm not," he said, answering both questions. He beamed at me. "I'm just a guy who's had to overcome a physical handicap in order to live a normal life. He turned toward the auditorium and his ear twitched again. There was something he wasn't telling me, I was sure of it. "I guess we'd better get you back inside. They're setting up earlier than scheduled." I watched as he fished around inside his jacket. A moment later, he offered me a business card.  
Matthew Murdock, Esq. Attorney at Law. An address I recognized as being down near Hell's Kitchen. Strange place for a law practice, but the rent was cheap compared to other places on the island. Even stranger was the fact that the back was covered in dots.  
"Braille?" I asked.  
"Of course," he said as we went back down the hall. "Give me a call tomorrow, please. I have the feeling that Charles was right."  
  
The concert rocked. The opening act was a really sweet Indie band from Bremerhaven, which I found out later was a city in Germany. Kurt was excited for obvious reasons. His face lit up like a child at Christmas. I found myself wondering if this group had a CD out and if he already had it. CDs are usually a safe choice for gifts.  
It was amazing just how much the music affected us. The song 'Affirmation' was a good example of this. By the end of the first line [1], Rahne had taken my hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. During the second verse [2], Kurt did the same with my other hand. If I'd had another appendage, Amanda could have gotten into the act. Well, maybe. Her reaction to our boyfriend's act was to lean in a little closer to him and flash a sidelong glare my way. Guess you can't please all the people all of the time.  
  
"It's only twelve-thirty," Kurt said as we walked up Seventh Avenue. "Ve don't have to be back to the mansion for two hours. Anyvon up for food?" We all nodded or murmured our assent. I wasn't going to object, of course. It had been like six hours since I'd eaten and my stomach was already complaining. Why pass up the chance for a meal? Especially since I wasn't paying. No cash, remember?  
"Anything in mind?" Amanda asked. The fur-ball was pushing me, so I couldn't see his face. When he didn't answer, though, I tipped my head back. He had that puzzled look on his face.  
"You haven't been to New York much since you came over here, have you?" I asked.  
"Nein. Just the airport."  
"Which one?" Rahne asked. She'd been in the city numerous times, I'd learned, mostly on shopping trips. Xavier's Carte Blanche must have gotten a real workout. From what I heard, they especially liked Fifth Avenue.  
"The big von."  
I shared a look with Rahne and Amanda, who were walking on either side of me.  
"Which one?" we all said in unison. The girls giggled. I could tell he didn't understand why, either.  
"There are a few big airports around here," I said to him, trying not to smile. "If you're open to suggestions for a place to eat, there's a place on West 64th that's open all night."  
"It's probably not very good," Amanda said.  
I bristled. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
She sniffed. "Your tastes leave a lot to be desired."  
"So does your attitude, lady."  
"Um, could ye please not argue?" Rahne interjected. "Pietro used t' live here. He probably knows where t' go this time o' night." Thank you, Rahne, for giving us a shot of sanity. I'd have been happier had it worked.  
"Stay out of this," Amanda said.  
"Amanda..." I interrupted Kurt before he could begin. If she was going to be pissed at someone, might as well be me. It's not like we liked each other or anything.  
"Don't bother, Kurt. I'll bet she's on the rag." Yeah, it was a crude statement. But it just sort of slipped out.  
"Pietro!" Whoops. Forgot there was another girl with us. Rahne smacked me upside the back of the head. Somehow she'd managed to find the stitches, too, and it really hurt. What is it with people and that particular spot on my head?  
"Ow! Sorry, Rahne."  
"Oh, that was really manly of you," Amanda said. "I'll bet your ego is just all puffed up and feeling proud with those words of wisdom." She shook her head. "You know, after Duncan beat you I felt like crap because I'd told Mary Beth about our three-way relationship. Now I'm not so sure."  
Something suspicious clicked in my mind. "Wait a minute. You told Mary Beth 'No Secret Is Safe With Me' Stevens about the three of us? The girl voted most likely to appear on a trashy talk show? The one who's been going out with Duncan Matthews since July 4th?!"  
"Well, yeah. She's only my best friend," she snapped. "And my only regret is that he didn't do worse."  
"Why you backstabbing bitch," I snarled. I couldn't believe what she'd just said.  
"This from the guy who stole my boyfriend? Kiss my ass, you discolored freak of nature!"  
The conversation went notably downhill from there.  
"Did you also tell her about that streak of insane jealousy you've got?" I demanded.  
Amanda snorted. "Jealousy? Try confusion."  
"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?  
"Just what does he see in you anyway?"  
"Hello," Kurt said to no one in particular. "I'm right here, guys."  
I ignored him. "Maybe he likes that fact that I like him for him, not because I've got a fetish for mutants."  
"I do not have a fetish!" she squealed.  
"Yeah, that's what they all say. Witch."  
"Pillow-biter." That was a new one.  
"Tramp!"  
"Scuzzbucket!"  
The Tylenol-3 must have been wearing off, because my choice of language started to get a little extreme. To my surprise, she was able to keep up with rapid-fire insults of her own. At the end Kurt and Rahne had to step in to keep us from strangling one another. There was no doubt in my mind that I'd have done it, too. It was her fault I'd been squished like a bug two days before. I'd have to remember to send her a lump of coal for Christmas, the conniving witch. Among other petty revenges, of course.  
"Stop it! Both of you!" Kurt snapped as he slid between us. I felt his tail swish angrily through the air in front of me. I couldn't see it, but it was there. Guess that answered that question.  
"She started it," I muttered.  
"Und I'm finishing it, hörst du mich? [3]" Uh oh. His grasp of English was slipping; that wasn't a good sign. He took a deep breath, visibly willing himself under control. "I think ve vill go back to Bayville. I do not like it when you fight." His expression warned against arguing. This date hadn't turned out quite like he'd planned.  
  
The van ride back to Bayville involved a lot of tension thick enough to walk on. No one said anything, but I imagine that all four of us were thinking that we'd rather stayed home. By the time Kurt pulled into Amanda's driveway, we weren't even looking at each other. It was like being in an elevator, now that I think about it. No eye contact, no speaking, just a lot of pretending the other people weren't there.  
Amanda didn't wait for Kurt to open her door, but he got out of the van anyway to walk her up to the house. I watched them wander up the sidewalk, wishing the van had manual windows rather than automatic. Amanda was talking in a very animated fashion, with lots of hand gestures, but I couldn't hear her. Kurt's face kept falling lower and lower. I sighed. I'd have to tell him I was sorry when we got back to the Institute. He was having a crappy night and I had the feeling a lot of it was my fault. Mind you, I'd sooner eat my own liver than apologize to that...person...he was dating.  
Of course, Amanda had dug her own grave with the revelation that Duncan had played Pin-the-Pietro-on-the-Locker because of her big mouth. That made me feel just a tiny bit better. Not much, but enough that a satisfied smirk came over me.  
I looked over at Rahne, who was staring wide-eyed out the window.  
"They're havin' qui' a row," she whispered. This seemed like a good time to try that apology again.  
"Yeah. Hey, listen," I said. Rahne reluctantly looked away from the window. "I know tonight's been really screwed up and I'm sorry for not telling you about the whole thing earlier." I swallowed. "Any chance you'd care to go out with me another night?" Hey, it was worth a shot, right?  
"I'd have t' think about i'," she said truthfully. Hey, at least she was honest. "Tomorrow, perhaps?"  
I opened my mouth to reply and sighed again. I looked down at my lap instead, fiddling with my seatbelt in a nervous gesture. Tomorrow, tonight rather, Kurt had promised a more private date than tonight's unbelievable screw-up. My eyes flickered in Kurt's direction.  
"Um, actually tomorrow's probably bad."  
She touched my arm. I looked up to find her smiling faintly at me. She saw me looking again. Talk about being perceptive. "At least ye were honest about i' this time."  
What could I say to that? Nothing, as it turned out. The door slammed as Kurt got back into the van and we both looked up front. He was avoiding our questioning eyes.  
"Dare I ask what that was all about?" I asked him as the van roared to life.  
"No." There was something in his voice which made my stomach knot.  
"Kurt," I started.  
"Later, Pietro. I do not vant to talk about it right now."  
Oh, wonderful. Ever notice how couples start to pick up each other's character traits after a while? Usually it's little stuff; taste in music, television shows, that sort of thing. Not us, no. Kurt's rigid morality was starting to wear off on me. In return, he'd managed to pick up my penchant for being a moody son-of-a-gun. I wasn't entirely sure that was a fair trade, either. Why did he get to pick up all the fun habits?  
  
I guess I assumed 'later' to mean when we got back to the mansion. Boy, was I wrong. We barely spoke on the way into the house. In fact I remember saying good night to Rahne before she headed off to the girl's wing, but that was about it.  
Kurt remained silent as he helped me get ready for bed. I wondered how long his antisocial behavior would last. Life around this place had gotten a tiny bit easier since we'd discovered one another. I didn't want that to go away. Guess that means I had to say something, huh?  
"I'm sorry," I said under my breath as he moved the sheets within my reach. He didn't respond immediately. I got as comfortable as possible and waited.  
And waited.  
And waited, and waited, and waited. I was beginning to wonder if he'd even heard me. Before it got under my skin, I tried again.  
"I'm really, really sorry about tonight."  
He shut off the light, throwing the room into darkness. I felt the bed shift as he climbed up on the other side. A moment later, the lamp on the nightstand came on. Kurt lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling with a sad expression on his face.  
"It's not your fault," he said after a while.  
"Well, not completely. That girl," I bit back a stronger word, "you're dating had a lot to do with it too, but I'm still sorry." I smirked. "Accept my apology, will you? I don't do this often. Might as well take it when you can get it."  
He rolled over on his side to face me with that same puppy-dog look in his eyes. I had to resist the urge to make him roll over or play dead. Something told me that being a wise guy wasn't in my best interests. He scooped up a pillow and hugged it.  
"Nein," he said with a heavy sigh. "It's all my fault."  
"Care to explain that, buddy?" I asked carefully.  
His tail started to twitch. "If I hadn't tried to play both sides of the street, this wouldn't have happened at all." Something bugged me about that phrase.  
"Let me guess: that's what Amanda told you." I was pretty sure that was the case, so I didn't bother stating it as a question. Guess I'd never do well on Jeopardy.  
Kurt laughed, but it was strained. His eyes were wide, staring through me as if I wasn't there. And here I thought I was the only high- strung person in the room. Silly me.  
"Among other things, ja," he said.  
"And what other things did your girlfriend tell you?"  
"She's no longer my girlfriend."  
Oh.  
Just when I thought I couldn't feel any lower, I was wrong. I was slime. I'd managed to drive a fatal wedge in their relationship and it bothered me. I mean, really bothered me. That was unusual. The guy was opening doors I thought I'd locked years and years ago and I won't deny that it was a little scary. I was pretty sure I didn't ever want to be so close to someone that their emotions mattered that much to me. But there was an inkling of doubt in that thought. Crap.  
See, the problem I have with relationships is that sooner or later, one of the participants gets hurt. Badly. I've never had any trouble in that regard, but then I've had nothing but shallow relationships for the past several years, either. It's my way of keeping my distance from those around me. If I keep it superficial I can't get hurt, right?  
I suppose it all goes back to the royally screwed-up relationship I've got with my father. Freud would probably blame my mother, but I couldn't really remember her at all. What did he know, anyway? Dad had raised my sister and myself to be the perfect little children - from the Victorian Era. You know: seen but not heard. For as long as I can recall, he'd never wanted much to do with either of us other than to make sure we both were the strongest, most self-sufficient little people we could be. Sort of like prepubescent Green Berets.  
It was enough to drive my sister bonkers when her powers started to manifest. I guess that's why he had her institutionalized. Obviously, she was still pissed about that. I don't blame her. I didn't like our parent much as a result, either. Almost right after he put her in the tank, I was sent to the first of several foster homes. The only constant person in my life, other than our godfather, had just cut me off.  
How was I not supposed to come out of this unscarred?  
So now, years later, I found myself getting close to someone and they'd ended up getting hurt just like I'd figured. Kurt was upset and Amanda had gone ballistic. All because I couldn't keep myself isolated. Or didn't want to keep myself isolated. Was that it? Did Kurt really mean that much to me that I'd set aside everything I'd built up? I looked over at the guy in question. Kurt was asleep again.  
My heart melted. Yeah. Yeah, he did mean that much.  
I grabbed a hold of the sheet between us and tugged, pulling him across the bed. Slipping my arm around him, I closed my eyes and smiled. I could worry about Amanda tomorrow. For now, I'd just be content. His tail hugged me close and I knew the feeling was mutual.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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[1]: "I believe the sun should never set upon an argument."  
  
[2]: "I believe that trust is more important than monogamy."  
  
[3]: "...do you hear me?"  
  
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To My Reviewers:  
  
Mayday: Welcome to my twisted take on Evo. Please check your expectations at the door. I do recommend reading 'Speed Limits.' It gives a fairly reasonable back-story for the events in this fic. Obviously I've referred to it more than once, so if your interest is sufficiently piqued, have a look. I think you'll enjoy it. See below for my answer to the writing comment. I get tired of seeing outlandish fics left and right. People forget that the Evo world is populated by teenaged heroes who, as every fantasy writer will tell you, are ripe targets for problems ranging from zits to defeating Big Bad Guys. Between BBGs and the endless parade of angsty pairing fics (no offense people!) there's a bit of a black hole when it comes to seeing the kids deal with just plain growing up. I'm filling that void in my own way: by humanizing Pietro to some small degree. Hopefully I'm successful. If you wish to chat more about your life story, drop me an e-mail at ejm@dridus.com. :) I look forward to hearing from you. Wanda is coming up soon. Cheers, dear. :)  
  
Storm-Pietro: There will be more Rahne. Have no fear.  
  
Sailor X1: Real life can bite sometimes. Why should we get all the fun? Let the Evo cast deal with some of it. :) I giggled insanely when I wrote the hubba-hubba thing. That actually happened to someone in a car with me and he turned bright flaming red after it happened. I knew I had to write it down somewhere. Wanda is coming up soon. Magneto is on the slate for the chapter after next, though, so she may have to wait.  
  
Ultramatt17: People are always telling me I should have been a comedian. I can't figure out why. See above for my reaction to the old lady incident. Was the leak who you thought it was? Much more Murdock is scheduled for the next chapter. The kids I had in mind were Rahne (for obvious reasons), Kitty because she's a sensitive soul who's confused about her feelings about Pietro (he did save Kurt, after all, and she's fur-ball's best friend), Doug because he didn't know Pietro from 'before' and genuinely likes the guy, and Jamie, who's basically a sweet kid who cries at the end of sad movies. Evan was an interesting guess, but I imagine his reaction was more along the lines of dark snickering and furtive cheering-on of Duncan. I don't like the character of Evan for some reason.  
  
For those who have been wondering: my writing style is primarily based on two groups of sources: the Big Three of fantasy writing (David Eddings, Raymond E. Feist, and Katherine Kurtz - the last of which is the finest writer on the planet) and the unlikely trilogy of Jim Butcher, Janet Evanovitch, and Laurell K. Hamilton. From the fantasy trio I've learned how to write detailed stories without detracting from the plot more than necessary. A great example is pretty much anything by Eddings or Kurtz. Feist taught me to write interesting characters that leap off the page. Butcher, Evanovitch and Hamilton are my mentors in the art of first-person storytelling. Without their wonderful books, I wouldn't have gotten so interested in this style. It comes naturally to me, especially with a 'hero' I can relate to. Pietro and I have a lot in common in terms of personality, so I guess there's a little bit of myself in him. Hope that answers any questions on where I learned how to doodle effectively. If you want titles, I'd be happy to supply them. 


	15. A Matter of Murdock

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please. Comments on reviews are at the bottom again.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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Ever have one of those mornings where you just want to lie in bed in a half-asleep state and let the day ooze by while you stay safe and cozy under the covers? I certainly did. We'd gotten back late and I have no idea just how long I'd drowsed before finally falling asleep. It was only a little before noon before I finally roused enough to face the day.  
Kurt was gone, which was to be expected. His internal clock was connected to his stomach somehow. No matter where he was or what he was doing, he always managed to know when it was time to eat. I figured he'd probably woken up in time for breakfast and just decided to let me sleep.  
By some trick of fate, I was actually alone in the room. That I'd grown used to waking up to find people hanging around should tell you something. I basked in the solitude for a while, enjoying every minute of it. I liked being alone sometimes. My world generally moved quicker than the average person's, so I tended to go through life in slow-motion by necessity - holding back, you might say. Not having anyone around allowed me to watch the world go by at my speed.  
The only downside came when I decided to see if I could possibly get dressed on my own. The dresser was across the room from the bed, with like a million feet worth of carpet in-between. I'm not saying my bedroom was huge, but a small orchestra could have performed in there with very little effort. Suffice it to say that simply crawling across the bed and stretching my arms was out of the question.  
There were a couple options available. I could get off the bed somehow and just drag myself across the floor. Since I was wearing only a tank top and a pair of boxer shorts, that didn't seem like such a good idea. The idea of getting rug-burns on my more, ah, sensitive equipment wasn't that appealing. No, the best thing to do was worm my way into the wheelchair. It would be difficult, but I thought I could manage.  
Yeah. Right. Let's just say that my brain must have been asleep at the time.  
Twenty minutes later, Summers poked his head in the door.  
"Can't sleep the day away, Pietro. Time to..." There was a long pause. "That's funny. I thought Kurt said he was still in bed."  
I snorted from my position on the far side of the bed.  
"Not hardly."  
Summers came into my field of vision and raised an eyebrow. I must have looked quite odd, lying there on the floor with my arms crossed petulantly across my chest and my legs just sort of flopped completely askew. Heck, it felt odd. I wouldn't let that slow me down, no sir.  
"What happened?" he said as he picked me up and deposited me on the bed. He started rummaging through the dresser.  
"I tried to fly, you moron. What do you think happened?"  
Summers shot a frown over his shoulder at me. "I see the attitude fairy visited you last night."  
"You're just a bundle of laughs this morning," I muttered.  
"I try."  
Apparently being a jerk wasn't going to work today. "What's my agenda look like?"  
He tossed clothes my way and leaned against the desk as I squirmed into them.  
"Not much, actually. Mr. McCoy wants you downstairs for more therapy this evening, but you've got a few hours to kill. Got anything you feel like doing?"  
I thought about Mr. Murdock's offer to chat and made a quick decision.  
"Yeah, actually. There a telephone I can use around here somewhere?"  
  
I was a little surprised when a rather battered Buick pulled through the gates to the Institute grounds. I'd have thought that with Murdock being a lawyer he'd own a fancier car. Maybe he actually lived in Hell's Kitchen in addition to having an office there. That would have explained the somewhat lackluster set of wheels. Or maybe he had no idea what he was riding in.  
The other shocker was that he'd brought a friend. The car pulled to a stop in front of the steps and both doors opened. I suppose I hadn't really thought about how he'd get all the way out here. Driving himself was out of the question, after all.  
Gone was the Armani of last night. Mr. Murdock wore a rather plain yellow polo shirt and khakis instead, though he retained the Lennon-style sunglasses. They looked kind of cool. I'd have to get a pair one of these days. His cane was the more traditional white-with-red-tip. He treated it as a prop. While hesitant at times, he had no trouble at all making it across the pavement and up the stairs.  
I watched from the porch, where I'd been waiting for the past hour. The guy claimed he wasn't a mutant, but there was something very, very odd about him. Either he was lying through his teeth or...heck, I didn't know. No blind person should have been able to move around that easily. It was unsettling to a small degree. But hey, if he could compensate for his disability, maybe I could too.  
Well, you know what they say about pigs and flying.  
"Hi," I said. Mr. Murdock tilted his head to face me. I swear that had to be the most uncanny thing I'd ever seen. Considering that my godfather could tell you what the Queen of England ate for breakfast without thinking too hard and that my sister routinely cheated at board games by affecting the probability of dice rolls that was saying something. I returned his faint smile with one of my own before I remembered he couldn't actually see it.  
"Good afternoon, Mr. Maximoff," he said. He gestured to his driver, who'd followed him up the front steps. "This is Foggy Nelson, my law partner."  
We exchanged handshakes. Mr. Nelson was a little shorter than Murdock, and little chunkier. I guess they weren't starving for lack of clients.  
"Nice to meet you," I said politely. See? I could be nice when I tried.  
"Pleasure," Nelson grinned. He seemed like a jolly fellow, and I'm not just being stereotypical. Then he bent and, with a grunt, picked me up - wheelchair and all. Nelson was a little beefy, but it certainly wasn't all fat. The three of us walked down the steps.  
"Did you want to talk any place in particular?" Mr. Murdock asked.  
"Nope. Some place private, I guess." I hadn't really thought about it.  
He nodded, unsurprised. "Is that gazebo still out on the cliff? Would that be private enough?"  
As soon as he said gazebo, I had a flashback of the night I'd run onto the grounds, covered in blood and worse. Avoiding the house - which was known to be booby-trapped - I'd collapsed on a swing in another gazebo in the side yard and quietly gone shocky. I stared at Murdock and could feel the blood draining from my face. My hands tightened their grip on the armrests of the chair, hard enough to leave indentations.  
"Mr. Maximoff?" Nelson asked. I felt his hand on my arm and snapped out of it. I was fine. Dad couldn't hurt me while Xavier was around. With luck, he couldn't even get near me.  
"I'm-okay-really," I blurted.  
Mr. Nelson's face showed that he didn't believe me, but he didn't press the issue either. Smart move. Instead, he looked around for a pathway leading to the back of the house. I pointed it out and we started walking toward the secluded gazebo on the cliff face. Murdock kept one hand on the back of the chair to guide himself; I could feel his fingers drumming on the padded back as we walked along.  
"Have you always been blind?" I asked.  
Mr. Murdock 'looked' at me. "No. I had an accident several years ago. Luckily, all I lost was my eyesight."  
I had to ask. "What happened?"  
"Car accident," he shrugged. His law partner laughed.  
"He's too modest," Mr. Nelson said with a chuckle. At my questioning look, he added: "Matt here pushed an old man out the way of a truck before I even met him. Saved the guy's life."  
"Oh." I couldn't even imagine doing something like that. Saving lives was one thing, but not at the risk of my own health. I know, I know. I'd done it once. Look what happened. Is it any wonder I wasn't enthusiastic about doing it a second time? "So you remember what it was like to see."  
Murdock smirked. "Every day. It was hard at first, not being able to see. Suddenly my whole world had been cut off," he said. Nelson hefted my chair up into the gazebo and guided the blind man up into the little space.  
"You all right up here, Matt?"  
Mr. Murdock groped around and found the swing.  
"Sure," he said, sitting down. "We'll be fine."  
"All right."  
I watched the portly fellow walk back toward the car, knowing he'd be back eventually. Mr. Murdock, like me, had to have someone watch out for him all the time. It had to have been hell, relying on other people for the smallest things.  
A light breeze picked up and the chains of the swing creaked softly. I turned back to the lawyer. "You were saying?"  
He thought for a moment. "Ah, yes. I felt suddenly cast out. It was a difficult time."  
"How'd you cope?"  
"My family at first and then a few friends in college. I learned to lean on everyone around me for a long time. After a while, my frustration got the better of me and I started to learn to do things for myself. For example." He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and held it out. "Take a look at the label."  
I took the offered cloth and found the label. Several thick knots, perhaps the size of sesame seeds, were sewn into it. I ran a thumb over them.  
"This is Braille again?"  
"Yes. It's says 'white'. I figured that the only way to ever dress myself was to label all my clothing in a way I could read. Once I did that, I didn't have to worry about seeing a client while dressed like Liberace. Or," he added, "ask people for help picking out clothing."  
"Good idea."  
"Once I'd tackled that, other things became easier. Like memorizing the layout of a room so I could move about without barking my shins on every chair or table in my path."  
I sighed. "Trouble is, you're still mobile. I'm not. If I can't reach something, I'm out of luck."  
"You can't propel yourself?" he asked with a frown. Not unless I wanted to add more blisters to my hands. Stopping this infernal contraption required more skill than I'd been able to acquire. It felt like I'd stripped several square feet of skin from my hands in the last week or so of trying to get the hang of it. The fact that I didn't have enough muscle mass to move more than a couple feet without falling asleep was another part of it.  
"I'm not exactly built for it," I said.  
"What do you mean?"  
"Oh come on," I said, rolling my eyes. "Just look at me." Whoops. I reddened as I realized what I'd said. I expected him to get mad, raise his voice, something.  
Instead he reached out and, for a guy who supposedly couldn't see, managed to find my shoulders without trying. I just stared as he ran his hands over me, wincing once or twice as he found a soft spot courtesy of Duncan. His hands were light and surprisingly gentle as they whispered over my torso. I'm pretty sure he counted every one of my ribs. Thankfully, he stopped before I had to tell him to save it for a second date. Still, it seemed strange and vaguely unsettling.  
"What are you doing?" I choked.  
"Taking a look at you," he said. Oh. I guess that made sense. "I think I know why that Matthews fellow was able to pick on you with such effectiveness. How tall are you?"  
The question caught me off guard. "I don't know. Five-five in shoes, maybe."  
He thought for a moment, and then leaned back. "And probably not much over one hundred pounds, either, I'd guess."  
"Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?"  
"No, just a blind man giving you an example of how I've managed to adapt to my handicap," he said with a hint of amusement. What? I didn't quite understand.  
"I'm impressed, but a little confused."  
He spread his hands. "Since I cannot 'just look at' you, I had to learn about you with another one of my senses." He wiggled his fingers and smirked. Oh. "It was elementary, you might say."  
I snorted. "I assume there was a reason for this display?"  
"Sure," he said, going serious again. "I'm trying to show you that losing something as important as your eyes or legs shouldn't stop you from having a life and living as normally as possible."  
"It's working."  
"Glad to hear it. You need to put some meat on those bones, by the way. You feel starved."  
"I've got a fairly robust metabolism," I said. He settled back into the swing and gave it a small push. I listened to the chain creaking in time to his motion.  
After a while, he spoke up. "I've talked long enough. Why don't you tell me how you feel about your, ah, accident."  
I thought about that. How much did I really want to tell this guy? "I feel like crap," I evaded.  
"Don't hold back," Murdock said with a smirk. "Tell me how you really feel."  
"All right, fine. I feel like a huge chunk has been carved out of me. My power is speed, pure speed, but without my legs I'm just another guy with an activated X-gene. What's worse, not being able to move quickly is killing me. Everything and everyone around me is slower than dirt and I have to live my life at their speed. It's just not fair, damn it. If this had happened to anyone else, it wouldn't have affected them as much." I sighed. "Xavier wants me to fit in with his students, play on their team. How can I do that like this? I feel so freakin' useless. Not being able to run is driving me insane."  
"Could you explain some of that?" he asked.  
I realized he didn't know everything about me. What a novelty. Just about everyone at Xavier's place seemed to know every sordid detail of my life. Down to and including some rather embarrassing measurements in a few cases. So, haltingly at first, I told him about my mutation. The hyper speed, the increased body processes, the fact that time seemed to move quicker for me. Most importantly, I told him about the liberating feeling that came over me when I ran. Once I started moving, I felt free of everyone and everything. Just me and the speed. I missed that feeling.  
"This is where the adaptation comes in," he said after I'd finished. "You're going to have to learn another way to attain that freedom. Running, at least until your legs begin working again, is quite out of the question. Until then you'll need to find another outlet for your tension. I can't tell you what to do, but I can tell you from experience that not doing anything will just make the situation worse. I guess the most important thing is to always have faith." He patted my right knee encouragingly.  
And I felt it.  
I snapped forward, staring at my leg in shock. Incredible. The movement caught Mr. Murdock's attention and he cocked his head to one side.  
"What's wrong?"  
"I just felt something," I whispered. "When you touched me just then, I mean."  
"Oh?" He deliberately jabbed at my knee with his cane. "Feel that?" There. I felt it again. A faint and muffled sensation, but I felt it nonetheless.  
"Yeah," I said, trying my very best not to jump up and down in glee. A bunch of my housemates were in the pool a couple hundred feet behind me. I'd probably die of embarrassment if I went sprawling out of the chair. I poked at my right thigh. I could feel the touch as though from a distance, but that didn't matter. This was a really big breakthrough. I wasn't going to be stuck in this chair forever! "Thank you," I breathed as a sort of prayer. I wasn't the religious type, but it wouldn't hurt to cover my bases.  
  
Well, that turned out to be a bust.  
"Now?" Hank asked. I shook my head. I'd come down early for my physical therapy session, excited for once. I'm sure the big blue guy was surprised by my eagerness, as I'd previously looked forward to the sessions about as much as I'd have looked forward to a root canal or an enema. When I'd told him that I had a little feeling back, we both thought my body had taken a big step forward. Our rejoicing, however muted it may have been, was premature.  
"No."  
He poked me a little higher on the leg with one massive claw. "Now?"  
"No."  
The big guy sat back, absently flipping the back of his white lab coat out of the way. He set aside the clipboard he'd been holding and gave me a helpless look. "I'm sorry, Pietro. I can't explain it. You're sure you didn't just imagine it?"  
I pointed to my knee. "It was right there, I swear!" This was starting to frustrate me.  
"Pietro, phantom sensations are a documented fact in the medical world," he told me. "It's quite possible that what you felt was wholly in your mind."  
"Are you saying I'm going crazy?"  
"No, just that you had a normal reaction to visual stimuli. Many people have experienced the same thing. It's not unusual."  
I sulked. "Just irritating."  
  
My mood hadn't improved at all by that evening. Poor Kurt. He had to endure my peevishness all through a late dinner at the Kowloon Buffet #3, a pretty good Chinese restaurant on the other side of Bayside. In case you wondered: no, I have no idea why it was called #3. In fact, I once looked all over town once for the other two and came up dry. Just one more weird thing about Bayside, I guess.  
Kurt did manage to crack through my shell, though, later on. As a surprise, he took me to see a German flick that was showing at an art theatre over by the college campus. It was a fascinating film, something about a submarine. A little hard to follow, but impressive camera work and terrific pacing made up for it. Having him whisper translations in my ear (and tickling me with his fur) for an hour-and-a-half worked like a charm too. It was a serious feature, but I was having a heck of a time trying not to giggle throughout the entire movie. I hadn't realized how fun that sort of thing could be and made a mental note to pick up a calendar on the way out. Since he had a lot more free time, we could do this again soon.  
I wondered briefly just how extensive the foreign film section was at the local Blockbuster. That was another good possibility. Too bad the only DVD player was in the rec room. Maybe we could sneak out of bed at night. I grinned to myself. Oh yeah, this had a lot of possibilities.  
"Vhat are you smiling about?" Kurt asked. We had finished the night by parking at a highway turnoff that overlooked the ocean. It was a great night for just sitting in the car and watching the water. Especially since he'd stolen Summers' little convertible. I'll admit the stick shift was a little bothersome, but we worked around it.  
"Just thinking that we ought to rent a couple more German flicks so you can translate them in my ear again. I love your fur, man."  
He laughed. "Score one for the fuzzy dude!"  
"I'm not really into the whole unshaven look, but on you it works."  
"How did your talk vith Herr Murdock go?"  
"Pretty good. I think I could get used to being stuck in this wheelchair. Maybe," I added at Kurt's disbelieving look. "Don't quote me on that."  
"Vell, that's something anyvay."  
Kurt flipped the radio on as we drove back to the Institute and started flipping through stations. I shook my head. All of Summers' presets nearly put me to sleep. I couldn't believe the guy actually listened to classical music. For that matter, I never understood why anyone listened to that stuff. Between that and the sugary-sweet pop music, the guy had no taste whatsoever.  
"Wait a sec," I said as Kurt started scanning through stations. "Go back to that last one."  
"-rk Port Authority officials say the shipment of livestock, a flock of pigs from western Spain, was the first cargo to be landed at the new terminal at LaGuardia. The delivery was made in a converted C-130 Hercules military cargo jet, part of the fleet sold last year by a cash-strapped Air Force, and all one-hundred fifty-four pigs were in good health upon landing. Sources from the buyer, Jimmy Dean, say th-." I shook my head. Un-freaking-believable.  
Someone up there had one hell of a twisted sense of humor.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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To My Reviewers:  
  
Mayday: I've got three siblings, ranging from 9 to 12 years older than myself. Thankfully I never had to tell them to get off the computer when we all lived together. I was the only geek in the family. Rahne's a temperamental Scottish girl. I imagine pretty much anyone would go ballistic if they found themselves in her situation. Figured it was only fair. Yeah, Pietro is starting to learn new feelings. Guilt, for example. That's always fun to write. I like writing Kurt's tail. It's interesting to imagine what a fifth appendage would do at any given moment. Using it to hug is one of the less dirty things I've come up with.  
  
Ultramatt17: I'll give you a cookie, but all I've got left are the anatomically correct Wolverine ones from a previous review. Hope you don't mind. My respect for Amanda took a nosedive when I found out she not only leaked the information (however accidentally) but also felt no remorse for the consequences. What an evil person. I'm not sure exactly how Pietro will get his revenge, but it'll be fun to see. Not sure what to tell you about Evan. They may interact in later chapters, but for now Spyke is still resentful of Pietro being added to the cast. He's a bit of a hothead, so it might come to a head eventually. I've got some ideas for Jamie and Pietro interacting, have no fear. I've other ideas that need to be purged from my brain first, though.  
  
Sailor X1: Matt Murdock is the blind lawyer also known as Daredevil from the Marvel comic series. Have a look at www.manwithoutfear.com for more information. Ah, now I get it. You like the fact that I've managed to humanize a cartoon character by giving him problems and thoughts of real teenagers. That makes sense now that I think about it. The problem with pretty much every comic book or cartoon (with the sole exception of Spider- Man, in pretty much every incarnation) is that the characters may be adolescents*, but they rarely have to deal with problems relevant to their age groups. I prefer dealing with life issues, however mundane, and seeing how characters react to real situations. Amanda probably has trouble picking on Pietro. Kurt is a mutant, so being snide about that wouldn't have worked. Gay-bashing is also out of the question, for the same reason. He's certainly not plain-looking, so making fun of his features wouldn't do well. Other than his albino coloring, the only thing left for her to deride was the fact that he was in a wheelchair. That was out of the question. Not only would I be offending any- and everyone in a similar situation, but I also wanted to highlight just how petty she can be. So she picks away at his paleness instead.  
  
*Incidentally, I hate the phrase teenager. The correct term is adolescent. Teenager has such negative connotations, I've noticed. My best friend just turned twenty and he used to bristle whenever I referred to him as a teenager. I guess his indignation rubbed off! 


	16. A Bit of Bad News

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, REVIEW, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please. Comments on reviews are at the bottom again.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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Just when my life started taking a turn for the better, fate intervened.  
It was Sunday afternoon and I had spent the better part of the day lazing in the second-floor gallery overlooking the front yard with Jamie. It had drizzled all day; else I'd probably have been outside. Instead, I was enjoying the sound of rain against the windows. Someone had the stereo in the rec room at the far end of the hall turned to a decent station for once, which provided a pleasant background.  
I'd discovered that Jamie, the youngest of Xavier's students, and I shared a passion for comic books and we'd pretty much wasted several hours with a stack of them between us. We didn't talk much, except to comment on the occasional cool scene or dialogue. Just two guys hanging out. Very relaxing. We'd also managed to put away a sizable amount of ginger ale and snacks. An empty two-liter of Vernors was between us, next to another that had perhaps a couple ounces left and several bags of junk food. Life was good.  
Until the sound of wrenching metal dragged my eyes off the latest exploits (among other things) of Wonder Woman, that is. I looked out the window, squinting into the rain.  
"What the heck was that?" I muttered, unable to see much.  
Jamie dropped his copy of 'Robin' and scooted over to the window, being extremely careful not to bump against anything. I'd learned that his mutation was to convert kinetic energy into identical copies of himself. In other words: if he bumped something, the gallery would be filled with a bunch of thirteen-year-old comic buffs. He didn't have any control over his mutation, either, which made it a real chore to be around him sometimes. On the other hand, whenever there were an odd number of people for a game, Jamie could always be counted on to even up the teams. It was all good. He pressed his nose against the glass, peering out into the overcast gloom. His eyes turned out to be somewhat better than my own.  
"Someone just tore the gates off the hinges!" he exclaimed. He sounded excited for some reason. "There go the auto defenses!" Ah, that would be why. The mansion defenses leaned heavily toward really big guns, fiery explosives, spinning blades, and other fun toys. Don't look at me like that. It's a guy thing.  
I looked out over the grounds, still unable to determine just who had decided to waltz in. Something told me it wasn't the Avon lady. Here and there, large machines rose out of the turf and started tracking whoever had decided to come calling. I had less-than-fond memories of the various defensive weapons on the grounds. For a moment I figured whatever had come in through the gates was probably toast. The weapons systems didn't work too well against the alleged enemy, though. As I watched, the various guns broke down one by one and I groaned. That never happened when the Brotherhood tried infiltrating the property. We never had that kind of luck.  
A man came into view, moving as though unconcerned about the fact that enough firepower to take over most third-world countries was pointed in his direction. The guy was dressed in a grey overcoat with the collar turned up and a matching fedora. He wasn't getting wet, either. Rain cascaded off him, turned aside by some sort of field. I realized the guy was floating off the ground, too. Easier than wearing rubber boots and carrying around an umbrella, I suppose.  
I heard the doors open in the foyer just below me and looked down in time to see my housemates spill out into the front yard in a sort of half- circle. Not too many people were hanging around, but those that were would be more than a match for whoever was out there. Thunder crackled as Storm gave the weather dial a firm twist. Wolverine was outside, too, along with Cyclops, Banshee, Beast, and Jean, who apparently didn't rate a fancy nickname.  
Footsteps came up behind me and a pair of slender hands appeared on my arm.  
"Ye might no' wannae stare out tha' window, Pietro," Doctor MacTaggart told me. With Xavier in Boston for a meeting of some sort, he'd left the Doc in charge. I looked up into her face, which showed a mixture of distress and concern.  
"What's wrong?" I asked. "This is the most exciting thing that's happened around here all day."  
I looked at the scene playing out below me and my heart just about stopped. The stranger tipped his head back to regard the assembled X-Men with a haughty expression. Deep blue eyes, sharp Roman nose. Chiseled features and white, feathery hair that matched my own. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but my father's eyes flicked up toward me several times. Oh no.  
Jamie gasped beside me and ducked down below the window, scattering the stack of comic books. I knew how he felt, but managed to control my emotions a little better.  
"On the other hand," I said in a strained voice, "I can think of other places I'd rather be at the moment."  
I felt the Doc squeeze my shoulder in an attempt to reassure me. It would probably have worked if the guy who had decided to turn me into a pincushion hadn't been standing in front of the mansion. I felt my hands convulse on the armrests of the wheelchair and had to will myself to be calm. There were six people down there ready to wipe the pavement with that maniac. I couldn't get much safer.  
My father took off his hat as Sean stepped forward. His hair didn't get wet, which meant he was projecting a heavy magnetic field around himself. Show-off. I started to get nervous. Why weren't the X-Men kicking butt? I really, really wished I could hear what they were saying down there or even see the Irishman's face. Dad didn't look...right.  
It's hard to describe. The last time I'd looked my father in the eye, he'd responded with the coldest, most dispassionate look I'd ever seen on him. I'd meant absolutely nothing to him at that moment except as an example. Standing out in the rain, he looked more like the man I remembered from when I was younger. A little more worn, a little more tired, but essentially the same right down to the Van Dyke beard. I got suspicious at that point. The beard softened his features and made him look less like the homicidal, sociopathic son-of-a-bitch that he really was.  
"What are they doing?" Jamie asked. I looked down at the younger boy, who was still huddled underneath the window frame out of sight of the animal outside the front door. A large part of me wanted to join him. Heck, it was all I could do not to wet my jeans. My father scared the living crap out of me, simple as that.  
What can I say? My family puts the fun back into dysfunctional.  
"Would you believe talking?" I grated.  
Jamie peeked over the window sill. "Are they nuts?"  
"Don't make me answer that."  
When Wolverine lit up a cigarette, I knew something was wrong. The fact that everyone else had stood down from their battle-ready stance just confirmed it. When Dad actually floated onto the porch, I just about had a conniption.  
"They can't be serious," I whispered, not bothering to hide the tremble in my voice.  
This had to be a nightmare.  
  
If only it were that easy.  
I deliberately avoided looking at my old man as he walked up the stairs, concentrating instead on the latest issue of the Flash. My favorite comic book. Duh. Dad's footfalls were heavy on the marble flooring as he came up behind me. I saw Jamie flinch, which was understandable considering that the bogeyman of mutantkind had just been invited into the house, but I continued to pretend the man didn't exist. Wishful thinking on my part.  
"Pietro," he said in that low, cultured voice of his. I didn't even bother glaring at him.  
"Go get Hank," I told Jamie, ignoring the man behind me. The kid was looking a little peaked and figured I'd give him an excuse to scram. I really wanted an adult around me at the moment and Hank seemed like my best bet. Logan, my first choice, was out of the question. Too short a temper and that metal skeleton of his wouldn't help his odds if it boiled down to a confrontation.  
Jamie scrambled to his feet and ran for the stairs. I flipped a page in the comic book, pretending to read. In actuality, I was keeping myself from turning into a really big cramp. I was tense enough that my muscles were shaking and it was an effort to keep them under control. No real surprise there. The people I'd turned to for help had just let my attempted murderer walk right into the same room with me. I had every right to be irate.  
"Pietro," he said again. When I didn't answer the wheelchair spun slowly around to face the man, lifting off the floor and circling in the air. Dad reached out a hand and plucked the comic book from my hands, carefully shutting it and dropping it onto the pile with the rest. I crossed my arms, staring away from him in defiance. And people said I had no patience. I'd be patiently cranky all day if it would make him leave.  
Dad set the hat carefully on the windowsill and levitated a chair across the room. It came to rest right in front of me and he sat down. He didn't say anything, just sat down. When it became obvious he wasn't going anywhere, I snarled, "What do you want, old man?"  
I glanced at him in annoyance. Why couldn't he just leave me alone for once?  
"I wanted to see my son," he said. I snorted and rolled my eyes.  
"Checking up on your handiwork? Or did you just stop by to finish what you started?" Yeah, I was testy. Rude, even. Do you blame me?  
Dad sighed. "I don't want you dead, Pietro. On the contrary, I very much wish you alive. This may come as a surprise, but I do care about your well-being."  
"Funny way of showing it," I grumbled. "Next time send a card instead."  
He leaned forward, gripping the arms of the wheelchair. I really didn't have any choice but to look into his eyes. That's how close he was. He looked sad for some reason. It wasn't an expression I'd seen on him much, if at all. It looked out of place.  
"If I'd wanted you dead," he said in a low voice, "I wouldn't have pierced you with that needle. I'd have injected its contents into your bloodstream and we wouldn't be having this conversation."  
"I see. So paralyzing my lower body was an act of mercy," I said, letting sarcasm drip from each word. "Well, thank you very much, sir. Next time you feel like being merciful, don't bother. It's so not you."  
Dad's eyes narrowed and he frowned, lips pressed into a thin line. "You don't believe I have your best interests at heart," he said flatly. I just glowered at him. Maybe he was getting the point. He shook his head. "I'm surprised at you, Pietro. I thought you smarter than this." Hank came up the stairs, standing out of earshot but well within my view. If I needed the thug who'd sired me thrown out of the house, he'd be there. I acknowledged the big blue mutant with a nod of my head.  
"What's that supposed to mean?" I spat.  
My father sat back in the chair and crossed his legs. "Mystique hadn't turned out to be quite the teacher I'd hoped. Her hands-off approach made the Brotherhood soft, weak. I've seen that ruined house out of which you operated. It's not a fit home for representatives of the next stage of evolution. Between Mystique's ineptitude and that noxious pit of a residence, I felt you children needed a better existence. When I saw that you'd escaped from the base, I had a thought."  
"Such as?"  
"Who better to train you for survival in the coming war than my old friend, Charles Xavier?"  
"You're lying. I made it here on my own, without your help."  
Dad arched an eyebrow. "You were aided by Mystique and her tame seer. I have little doubt that Destiny saw through my intent." He shook his head. "Think of it, my son. Had I wanted you dead on the roof of that airplane, you would be. Had I left you unscathed, you would doubtless have gone back into that filthy existence at the boarding house. However, a life-altering injury would force Xavier to take you under his wing. To raise you with his own brood. To be the father I cannot be."  
I stared at the man and didn't bother keeping the shocked look from my face. I didn't want to believe him. And yet...and yet it sort of made sense. If I hadn't needed urgent medical care, I probably would have slipped out of the plane the minute it touched down and never looked back. I'd have gone back to school, still been able to walk, and still been living in that moldering house with Lance and Wanda. But I did need that care and here I was.  
"You bastard," I whispered as tears rose up in my eyes. I blinked those away, not wanting to lose my composure in front of my father. He'd raised my sister and me to be strong. Mustn't disappoint the man. "I don't believe you."  
"I don't expect you to." I looked up at that. Dad looked sad again and he sighed heavily as he stood up. He picked up his hat. "Nor, I see, will asking your forgiveness do much good. Think about what I've told you, Pietro. When the time comes and the war begins, remember that I had your best interests at heart."  
I stared wordlessly as he turned to leave. A wave of his hand and the heavy chair he'd been sitting in moved back into its place along the far wall. He didn't look back, just nodded at Hank as he passed. I turned toward the window and watched him walk away from the house. This was going to take some time to digest.  
Dad turned around near the fountain and looked back up at me with a trace of his normal arrogance mixed into that worn-out look. Without changing expression, he raised a hand in farewell. I had a sudden, depressing thought that the next time we came face to face, it would be as enemies. I swallowed hard and blinked back the wetness in my eyes. I lifted my own hand and returned the gesture. My father nodded and the faintest of smiles crept across his face as he stood for a moment in the pouring rain. Then he turned and disappeared into the storm.  
I don't know how long I sat there, staring after the man and lost in my own thoughts. I did manage to forget that Hank was in the room until he coughed directly behind me.  
"Are you all right?" he asked. "What was that all about?"  
I made the decision right then and there never to tell anyone about this. "Nothing," I said, voice hitching. I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. Hank's hand was a warm weight on my shoulder.  
"Ok. Give me a shout if you need anything."  
"Sure."  
Jamie wandered back in a short time after that and we started plowing through the rest of his comic books. I couldn't really concentrate on any of them, however. I was too busy replaying the entire conversation with my father in my mind.  
  
Even pizza couldn't drag me out of my depression. I glanced around the long dinner table, wondering how quickly I could get away from my fellow housemates. With the announcement that she didn't feel like cooking, Ororo had ordered pizza from one of the local places that didn't mind delivering all the way out to the mansion. No less than two dozen large pies were spread out along the table. Pizza dinners, I found out later, were less formal than the usual meals around here. This one was devolving into a free-for-all as people jockeyed for the best toppings.  
I was squeezed in between Kurt and Bobby, across from Summers and Jean near one end of the table. My furry blue boyfriend was ferociously defending the extra-large pepperoni-and-mushroom in front of him, warding off would-be diners with a fork. I don't think anyone really expected him to leave a single slice on the platter. I know I certainly didn't. The room buzzed with conversation as everyone talked animatedly. The only absentees were Xavier, who was still in Boston thanks to a storm system up there, and my sister.  
I pushed aside my plate. My appetite, while normally on a par with that of the little demon beside me, was missing. "Has anyone seen Wanda?" I asked.  
Summers shrugged and shared a glance with Jean, who did the same.  
"I haven't seen her all day," she said, wiping tomato sauce from her mouth.  
"Me neither," Kurt said around a mouthful of pizza. I should have been amused by the fact that he was holding his current slice with his tail (the better to protect his chosen pie with both hands) but even that didn't snap me out of my sour mood.  
I cursed under my breath and leaned on the table, holding my chin in my hands.  
"You think something's wrong?" Summers asked with a frown. "You don't look so good."  
"I don't know. The visit from my Dad kind of got to me."  
"Don't worry about it, man," Bobby said. "You need to lighten up. It's not like anyone got hurt, right?" I just stared at him until he raised both hands in surrender. "Right. I'll shut up now."  
"You want to go out and look for her after we finish?" Summers asked. I shrugged in response.  
"Sure."  
"We'll find her, I'm sure. She's probably just at the mall or something," he said with that annoying smile of his.  
The telephone rang, interrupting the conversation. I was secretly relieved. Summers was starting to do that knight-in-shining-armor act again and I wasn't sure how long I could keep from screaming. Thankfully, One-Eye was the closest to the hall. He stood up and dropped his napkin on the chair.  
"Hello?" came his voice from the hall. "Yes, Officer, this is the Xavier Institute."  
Officer? I looked up sharply, sharing a look with Kurt and Jean. All three of us leaned a little closer to the doorway, trying to listen in on the conversation. No one else noticed, I think, thanks to the dull roar of conversation at the rest of the table.  
"Yeah, ok. Please put her on." There was a pause. "Wanda? This is Scott. What happened? You did what? Tell me you're kidding. Aw, man. All right, all right, calm down. We'll be right down there to pick you up. Hang on; let me give you a number." Another pause. "I don't know if you'll be able to reach him on a Sunday, but here it is." He read off a telephone number and I blinked. That sounded very familiar. I pulled my wallet out and flipped through the business cards. There it was. Why had he given her the telephone number for the Institute's lawyer? "We're on our way, ok? Just sit tight."  
Summers strode back into the room and conversation died. Perfectly understandable, considering the look on his face. Either he'd just eaten an entire raw lemon or he'd been given some bad news. I was pretty sure which it would turn out to be, too.  
"What is it, Scott?" Jean said in the sudden silence.  
"Wanda's been arrested," he replied. My stomach flipped. Oh jeez.  
"For what?" Hank asked from the head of the table.  
"Assault and battery. She put Duncan into traction."  
Jean and Kurt looked from Summers to me and I just knew that everyone else was doing the same thing. I fought down the rising blush that threatened to creep above my collar. My sister and I are very protective of one another, even if we don't particularly get along. There wasn't a doubt in my mind that she'd done it on my behalf.  
Traction, eh? That's my twin sister for you. Never does anything halfway. It's all or nothing with Wanda. I tried not to smile as I imagined that great big goon in a body cast.  
"Guess we'd better go get her, huh?" I said, fighting to keep my expression bland.  
  
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To Be Continued. Reviews welcomed. (Hint, hint.)  
  
------  
  
To My Reviewers:  
  
jastreit: Nice to hear you're enjoying this. I do plan to update QSC eventually, but real life has somewhat cramped my time. 'The Long Road' is the only fanfic on which I feel able to concentrate at the moment. As soon as life settles down, I'll finish the other. If I may ask, what do you like about this story? And is there anything I could be doing better? 


	17. A Familial Reconciliation

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, review, and enjoy. ;) Pretty please. Comments on reviews are at the bottom again. Unfortunately, Pietro got to the mailbag before I could. Apologies in advance. He can be such a jerk sometimes. A flirtatious jerk at that.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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My lack of mobility could be such a pain in the butt sometimes. Summers and the Doc (great name for a band) headed out to the police station without taking me along, despite the fact that it was my sister behind bars. Heck, I've had experience in being a felon. The very least they could do was take me along so I could give her advice on how to piss off the jailers and other inmates.  
Actually, it's entirely possible I was still wanted for busting out of jail after the whole incident with Evan and the lockers. That might have been a good reason to leave me behind. The last thing I needed at this point of my life was to share a ten-by-ten cell with a three-hundred pound inmate by the name of 'Bubba.' At the risk of sounding like Kitty, it would, like, totally ruin my image.  
Not that my reputation could possibly be tarnished any further, mind you.  
Yeah, I had a few self-esteem issues. Sue me.  
So instead of tagging along and being there for the only blood- relation I actually got along with I ended up pacing the hall of the boy's wing while waiting for them to get back. Sort of, anyway. Since I wasn't a self-propelled piece of machinery, Bobby was actually doing all the pacing for me. I was just along for the ride.  
"How long are they going to be down there, anyway?" I grumbled. It had already been two hours. My patience, never a real strong trait to begin with, was rapidly wearing thin. I was pretty sure that we'd have heard if something bad had happened, but not positive.  
"Too long," Bobby said from his position behind me. We made a U-turn at the head of the stairs and started back. I agreed with him wholeheartedly. Then he went on, "I hope she's all right."  
Something in his voice made me tip my head back to look up at him. The movement made my head come to rest against his stomach and I was startled to feel the cold emanating from him. I motioned for him to stop and come around in front of me.  
"What?" he asked. There wasn't any pretty way of doing this, so I just acted quickly. He yelped in surprised as I quickly lifted his long- sleeved t-shirt and laid the back of my hand against his belly. Holy crap! I jerked my hand back, but it was already tingling.  
"Jeez, man. You feel like a freakin' Popsicle," I said, briskly rubbing my hands together to warm them. Bobby tucked his shirt back in and resumed pushing me up and down the hall.  
"I'm nervous. My body heat dips when I get nervous."  
"Gee, you think?"  
I leaned my head back again, trying to ignore the cold, tingly feeling running down my scalp. "This have anything to do with my sister?" I asked innocently. Even if I hadn't noticed his hands suddenly clutch the handles of my chair, the fact that my head felt like it was going to freeze solid confirmed my suspicions. The drop in temperature around us was just frosting on the cake.  
"Maybe."  
"That's cool," I said. Bobby and Wanda. Wanda and Bobby. It didn't sound too weird, anyway. My chilly friend looked down at me, grinning suddenly. "Figure of speech, Iceman. Figure of speech."  
"I know." He sighed. "I am worried about her, though."  
"You asked her out yet?" I asked, trying to keep my own worry to a minimum by changing the subject. Slightly anyway.  
"No. I was going to, but I haven't had the chance," he replied. "She keeps avoiding all of us."  
"Well, I'm behind you a hundred percent, buddy."  
He looked down at me again. "Really?"  
"Sure," I said. Then I grinned evilly. "As her brother, however, I'll warn you in advance that if you ever make her cry I'm duty-bound to kick your ass."  
"I don't think it's possible to make Wanda cry," Bobby said with a laugh. The temperature rose slightly. At least my breath wasn't coming out in fog anymore. That was always a plus. I had a flashback of the day my father put her in that institution.  
"You'd be surprised."  
  
After four hours, it was nearly midnight and there was still no sign of any of them. Bobby passed me off to Lance for the whole bedtime ritual. School nights sucked. I mean, if it weren't for the whole spinal injury, I could wake up two minutes before the first bell and still make it to school on time. These days I needed a considerably larger amount of time to get ready. So I ended up having to get to bed at what Hank termed a 'decent hour' and I called too freakin' early.  
"You think something went wrong?" Lance asked.  
I spat into the sink and inspected my teeth in the mirror. "I don't know. I hate to admit it, but I'm getting a little concerned. Come on, how bad did she waste the guy?"  
"Very, I hope," he said darkly. I looked over at him, slightly alarmed. Lance rinsed his toothbrush and very nearly slammed it into the cabinet above the sink. I could tell he was doing his best to keep from smashing the glass with his fists. I reached out a tentative hand and touched his arm, which felt like stone under my fingers.  
"Lance? You ok, man?" I asked, putting away my own utensils.  
He looked down at my hand, which I carefully removed. "Yeah, I'm fine." He visibly relaxed. "Just wish I could have been there. I've got a few things to say to that creep myself." He cracked his knuckles and the sound echoed in the bathroom like a rifle report. I just bet he wanted to 'talk' to Duncan. With his hands, most likely, and I don't mean sign language.  
"I know what you mean," I said as we rolled to my room. "I wouldn't mind giving him a good spanking myself." Lance fell silent behind me and I realized what I'd just said. "Uh, not like that." Do...not...blush...dammit. Luckily my room was only three doors down from the bathroom. No one could see the fact that I resembled a human turnip.  
"Speaking of that," he said as he closed the door behind us. He parked me by the bed and lifted me easily onto the mattress. The guy could move a ton of rock in mild irritation so it always came as a bit of a surprise that he could be so gentle about it. Of course, I couldn't feel his hand under my knees. For all I knew, he was giving me Indian burns while doing so.  
"Speaking of what?" I asked innocently.  
He tossed my makeshift pajamas over to me. "I know we haven't talked much about the whole, um, Kurtboyfriendgaything." The last word came out in a rush, even for me. I managed to catch the first part of it, though, and nodded warily.  
"Go on."  
Lance gestured at the t-shirt with a raised eyebrow and I looked down. Oh, oops. I guess my laundry got mixed up with Kurt's again. Understandable. My wardrobe was almost entirely black and this was one of the few dark shirts the guy owned. Also one of the crudest.  
"'Click here to see me naked?'" [1] Lance asked with a raised eyebrow.  
"Don't even think about it."  
He sat on the edge of the bed and turned slightly away as I started struggling into the sweatpants. I was starting to get the hang of it, but was still a little embarrassed by the idea of stripping down in front of people. I'm nowhere as prudish as, say, Summers but that doesn't mean I liked dangling my wares for the entire world to see. Um, so to speak. Man that sounded wrong.  
"Anyway, you were going to say something about Kurt?"  
"Yeah, sort of," he said, still turned away. I tapped him on the shoulder when I was done and we both lay back on the bed. He had to shuffle around a bit to keep from using me as a pillow. "Just wanted to tell you that I'm cool with it. Not, um, comfortable, but its ok with me, you know? It's not going to change anything between us, man."  
Well, that was a relief. And here I'd thought that being dragged unceremoniously out of the closet by the biggest jerk - excuse me, I mean jock - in school would change things. Lance hadn't said too much in the few days since, and I guess I'd sort of worried about it.  
"Thanks, Lance," I said. I meant it too.  
"No problem, man. As long as you're happy, right?"  
"I like your way of thinking."  
He was quiet for a few minutes. I toyed with the forgotten t-shirt.  
"Lance?" He grunted. I took that for a 'yes?' and went on: "What else is bothering you?"  
He rolled over and pointed at my belly. "This, for one."  
I looked down where he was pointing. The puncture wound had healed over and there was an angry red scar in its place. It looked like a zit, to be honest, but it would fade in time. I shook my head.  
"It's all right. The Doc says the internal stuff was easy to fix. Even Hank says I'm doing--"  
Lance cut me off. "Not the damn scar, you idiot. I mean this!" He poked me in the ribs, in the stomach. I must have looked confused. "There's hardly anything left of you!" He sounded genuinely ticked.  
I tried to shrug it off. "I have a fast metabolism."  
"Don't give me that crap, Pietro. I saw you at dinner tonight - you ate two slices of pizza and a half-dozen mushrooms you stole from Kurt's plate. That's hardly a meal for you, jackass. That's not even a light snack! You're starving yourself on purpose!"  
And here I thought I'd been circumspect about it.  
"I am not," I evaded. "I just haven't been hungry and you know I've always been this slender. You're blowing things out of proportion," I added. Oops. My mistake.  
"Pietro," Lance said in the neutral tone he reserved for when he was really irked, "whatever your reason for doing this, it's wrong. It's screwed up and it's wrong."  
He was starting to push my buttons. "I. Am. Fine. Lance," I said evenly. "Do me a favor and don't tell anyone about this, all right?"  
"Like hell I won't," he said, standing. "I'm not gonna sit by and let you wither away, moron. You're my friend, Pietro, and friends don't do that."  
I blinked. I guess I hadn't really thought about how this whole thing was affecting Lance. I think I've mentioned before that since Mystique had taken off he'd more or less taken charge of the rest of the Brotherhood. A sort of surrogate father, despite the fact that he was less than four years older than the youngest of us. Strange, but true. Under that sandpaper exterior was a guy who really cared about the rest of us and I hadn't thought about what this was doing to the poor guy.  
I could take a lot of crap from a lot of people, but it was a lot harder to take it from a guy who'd been pretty much responsible for me for nearly a year. Jeez. As if I hadn't already had a lousy day.  
"I didn't mean it like that, Lance."  
He rolled his eyes. "Well, say what you mean. Sheesh." He shook a finger in my face. "And don't think I was kidding about telling the Doc that you're trying to starve to death, either. I swear, if you weren't so damn fragile right now I'd take you outside and thrash you."  
"Let's hear it for small favors," I said wryly. He grinned at me and it was like the weight of the world came off my shoulders. "Sorry I snapped."  
"No problem. You need any more help in here?"  
I shrugged into the t-shirt and squirmed up the bed until I was more or less comfortable.  
"Nah. Just hit the lights before you go. Good night," I said with a jaw-cracking yawn.  
"Good night."  
The lights went out and the room fell into darkness as he shut the door. I glanced at the clock on the bedside. 12:30 am. Great. I had to be up in less than six hours for school and I didn't feel like sleeping.  
  
There's no way to sugar-coat this: the bed moved; I screamed. Loudly. And quite girlishly, much to my consternation. A hand clamped down on my mouth and I bit down hard. A moment later, my head whipped to one side. My cheek started to sting - ouch. I hate being slapped. I bruise so easily.  
The light on the other side of the bed flipped on and I blinked, hissing at the sudden light. When I could see properly, I cast a sidelong look at my assailant.  
"Wanda?"  
"Dammit, Pietro," my sister said as she inspected her hand. "You nearly broke the skin, you nitwit."  
"Wanda! Jeez, girl! You should know better than to sneak up on me when I'm sleeping," I muttered, flopping back onto my pillows. I fought my breathing back under control. For a brief moment I fantasized about putting a lock on the door to my bedroom. I was well and truly getting tired of waking up with people in my bed. Well, Kurt aside of course.  
No, don't go there. Just...don't.  
"What on earth were you thinking?" I asked her. She blinked royal blue eyes at me and smiled. I mirrored her grin, literally. It's just one more quirk about us.  
"I was thinking of you, goofball," she said with a twinkle in her eye. "Why else would I beat the crap out of the captain of the varsity team?"  
"Wanda," I said in all seriousness, "you'd beat the crap out of anyone just for a good laugh. Restraint isn't in your vocabulary. What the heck did you hit him with, anyway? Summers said the poor guy is in traction now."  
She shrugged. "I hexed a park bench at him."  
"That's it?"  
"It was one of the cement ones."  
Oh. "Ouchie," I cringed. "Remind me not to piss you off anytime soon. How'd you manage to escape from prison so quickly?" I glanced at the clock. 2:20 am. School was going to really suck tomorrow. With luck I'd be able to catnap between classes. Right. Stick to that story. "They let you out after eight hours?"  
Wanda sighed. "Doctor MacTaggart posted bail. I've never seen her so mad, either."  
"I can imagine." On impulse, I took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Quit being such a stranger, Wanda. I've missed you." Where, you might ask, did this sudden display of affection come from? I'm not really sure. I think my father's visit might have had something to do with it. I just had this urgent need to mend my relationship with my sister. Naturally, this made her suspicious.  
"Are you feeling all right, Pietro?" she asked. I didn't blame her. We'd had a less-than-stellar relationship up to this point. My sudden desire for her friendship and company probably came across as anywhere from slightly odd (me) to downright insane (her).  
That's not too far off the mark, either. Wanda is certifiably nuts. She thinks I don't know about the medication she takes on a regular basis, but it's hard to keep secret from a guy who moves faster than most airplanes. I'd had the opportunity to go through her purse the other night during a commercial and found a wide variety of pills and what-have-you tucked away in there. When I say she's a loony tune, I'm not kidding.  
"I'm feeling fine, Wanda," I said. Blink, blink. "Aside from the lack of lower-body response and the occasional phantom pain from this second bellybutton our father tried to install, that is." I flashed my most innocent smile her way. "I really do miss having a sister, that's all. I know we haven't gotten along much lately--"  
"Try ever."  
"--ever, but I want to change that. I want us to be a family again."  
"You really mean it?" she asked, eyes wide. She looked happy. That was a good sign.  
"Oh yeah. I mean it."  
She considered that for a moment. "So no more secrets, right?"  
My blood ran cold for just an instant. I had a pretty good idea where this was headed.  
"What do you mean?" I hedged.  
"Get with it, little brother." I hated being called that. She had a whole eleven minutes on me; not enough to be pulling the 'little' crap out and waving it in my face. "Scott told me in the car why Duncan decided to use your head for target practice." Her face darkened. "I wonder if I can sneak out to the hospital before dawn."  
Wanda actually made a move for the door and I had to grab her with both hands to keep her with me. "I don't think that's a good idea," I said.  
Her eyes smoldered, turning a deep, fiery purple before softening back to their normal rich blue. I swallowed. For a moment, I honestly thought she'd explode at me. I guess blood runs deeper than water, though.  
Thankfully.  
"You're right," she said carefully. Then she smacked me lightly. "So why didn't you tell me about your boyfriend, you little poofter?"  
I coughed uncomfortably. "I'm still getting used to it myself, Wanda. And It hasn't exactly been easy to keep it under wraps around this place." I hung my head, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Darn it.  
"Tell me about it." She sighed and I felt her arms wrap around me. "It's ok, Pié," [2] she said, using my childhood nickname for the first time since, well, we were children. I hugged her back, tightly. My vision was going watery again. Crap. "It's ok," she repeated as I clung to her. "If you're happy, then I'm happy. That's all that matters, all right?"  
"You seriously don't have a problem with Kurt?" I said. My voice cracked and I felt a tear run down my cheek. Bloody hell. I couldn't blame it on the painkillers I'd been popping like Reese's Pieces for the last two weeks either. My life had been a constant rollercoaster since waking up in the basement clinic and I just couldn't take the stress any more. Knowing Wanda was there for me as a sister, as a friend, was more than I could handle at the moment.  
"Shhh," she said. Wetness hit my neck and I knew Wanda had started crying too. Must be a twin thing. "I like him. From what I've seen, he's a good influence on you, Pietro."  
I couldn't say anything to that. We just sat there for several minutes, listening to the wind outside my window and rocking lightly back and forth. After a while I felt worn out and tired as all get out. I pulled away from Wanda, dashing my arm across my eyes and snorting. I hate crying. My sinuses always drain and it makes me sound horrid when I sniffle. Actually, it makes me sound a lot like Logan snoring. Pretty bad, anyway.  
"We've got class in the morning," I said with a tentative smile. "You'd better get to bed. Oh, hey," I said quickly. "That reminds me. Bobby wants to ask you out, but he's too chicken to do it."  
"I'll fix that," Wanda giggled and then she stood, flipping the light switch. I'd expected the room to fall into darkness, but the door was open and the hall light was flooding in. Oh, wonderful. We'd had an audience.  
"How long have you been standing there, Logan?" my sister asked with a hint of irritation in her voice.  
The big man shrugged and stepped inside the room. "Since yer brother woke up half the hallway by screaming," Logan said, jerking his chin in my direction.  
"Sorry about that," I mumbled, feeling my face flush scarlet.  
Wanda patted my shoulder. "Good night, Pié," she said as she brushed past Logan. The big mutant watched her leave and then closed the door behind him. The room fell into blessed darkness. At least he couldn't see me blushing any more. Unless his nose could pick up the scent of my blood underneath my cheeks. No, that was just too weird. I hoped.  
"What do you want, Logan?" I asked, suddenly tired.  
"Just wanna make sure yer ok before I sack out."  
"I'm fine!" I snorted again and the noise was way too loud in the quiet room. Damn. "Really," I added lamely.  
Logan chuckled in the blackness of the room. I felt the hairs rise on the back of my arms and wished he wouldn't do that again. The man frightened me and for good reason. The guy was a cold-blooded killer who could scare half the populace with a well-placed glance.  
"Sure you are." I didn't bother answering that, closing my eyes and pretending to be asleep instead. The chair next to the bed creaked. Guess that hadn't worked out too well, eh? I gave up and looked at the hulking shadow to my right.  
"What?" I snapped.  
"Ya want some advice, kiddo?"  
From you? Hell no.  
"Sure." Hey, I'm not stupid enough to say that to his face.  
"Get yer thumb outta yer ass and tell the rest of the kids around here. Kurt's going through the same frustration that you are and it's eating him up."  
That was news to me. It made sense, though. I sighed.  
"You're probably right. It isn't fair for him, either."  
"I know I'm right, spanky. The longer ya guys keep it close, the more yer gonna stress out about it. Sooner'r later one of ya's gonna crack."  
"All right, all right," I said. I cave way too easily sometimes. "I'll talk to him about it tomorrow at school if I can find a chance. Maybe we'll just come out with it at dinner. Rent a billboard, even. Think Xavier'd mind if I rented spotlights for the occasion?"  
"Don't get smart. I just don't want ya kids getting hurt," he said. There was an edge of humor in his voice. I really think I preferred the old Logan - you know, the one that cussed like a sailor, smoked incessantly and tried to gut anyone that came near him. The new, pseudo-friendly Logan was so far out of my experience I couldn't think straight.  
You know what I mean.  
"All right already. Jeez. Dinner, tomorrow. I promise."  
Here's hoping Kurt was up to the idea.  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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[1]: Yet another charming shirt from tshirthell.com.  
  
[2]: I made this up out of whole cloth. Everyone else uses 'Tro' as a nickname and I wanted something different. 'Pi' or 'Pie' just look and sound weird when I mentally try them out. 'Pié' however works pretty well, I think. It's pronounced PEE-ay for those who have trouble with accented letters.  
  
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To Jack's Reviewers:  
  
"Well, let's see. Dear Sailor X1: Personally, I could do a little less with the real world issues. Jack's been putting me through hell lately. I mean, come on; the guy made me go up against Sabretooth AND Magneto in two successive fics. What kind of rat does that sort of thing? He's evil, EVIL I tell you!"  
"Ahem. Just answer the damn letter, Pietro."  
"Sorry. Where was I? Oh, we forgive you for the Murdock thing. Could have happened to anyone. Keep an eye out for more Marvel comic cameos, though. YOU're sorry about my legs? Jeez, lady. How do you think I felt? I had my hopes up for a moment there. Sheesh. Anyway, the pigs business was another one of his supposedly witty attempts at humor."  
"Pietro!"  
"Oops. You still here? Um, yeah, I agree. I do need a hug. You volunteering, chickie?"  
"That's it. I'm changing my e-mail password right now."  
"Sissy. I'm just adding spice to your reader response section. Let's see: Xavier doesn't know that my old man stopped by to chat. I don't doubt that Doc or Hank will tell him, but I'm not planning to fill the guy in on the conversation. Magneto is a real pain to write, from what I've been told, but I think it sort of balanced out pretty well. The Wanda situation was long in coming."  
"Yep. Figured tossing her butt in jail might explain why I haven't written her."  
"And here I thought it's because you kept putting it off."  
"I had your best health in mind."  
"Right. Just like you did with that syringe from hell."  
"The letters, please."  
"Right. The next one is from Ultramatt17: The reference is from 'Clerks: The Cartoon,' but we're not sure of the exact episode. One of the early ones, anyway. I gotta ask: Jack's racking up a lot of brownie points. Any chance he'll be able to trade them in for something neat soon? Um, let's see. Yeah, Magneto is a bit of a prick, but I can see where he was coming from."  
"Really?"  
"Oh, hell no. Who am I kidding? Dad scares the living dookie out of me. Jamie's a sweet kid and I genuinely like him. I'm pretty sure between the two of us we can make life a living hell for the other new mutants."  
"What are you looking at me like that for?"  
"Hint, hint. More Jamie. It's been requested."  
"I'll add him to the list of people to write more about. Get on with it."  
"Gotcha. Where was I? Oh, yes. Don't mess with my sister. That's more common sense than anything else. I should note that you're running out of people to antagonize, Ultramatt17. First Ororo, now Wanda. Wait until Wolverine finally gets pissed off. It'll make that X2 movie look like a Boy Scout training film. That's the last letter! Can I do this next chapter too?"  
"Over my dead body."  
"You, sir, are no fun."  
"Learn to live with it." 


	18. A Surprising Announcement

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Author's Note:  
Greetings.  
Read, review, and enjoy. :) Pretty please. Comments on reviews are at the bottom as usual.  
Don't read the footnotes if you find religious opinions other than your own to be offensive.  
Cheers.  
Jack  
  
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Well, I lied.  
I didn't out us at dinner the next night. Nor the night after. Nor, in fact, did I say a single word for the next three weeks either. I hate to say it, but I chickened out - big time. And if you call me a wuss, I'll sic Hank on you.  
I made excuses, of course. Heavy schoolwork, fatigue, the usual garbage, but it didn't fool anyone. By the last week of September, I was getting disapproving looks from every adult in the place as well as Summers and Jean. Kurt was too self-conscious to speak up without me, so both of us were uncomfortable for most of that month. I kept waiting and waiting for Ororo or Uncle Charles or someone to speak up, but they didn't. Logan, however, did.  
I'd been having a fairly erotic dream involving Kurt, Rahne, and half the cast of Baywatch. I don't think it's necessary to go into detail, but I'm sure you can let your imagination run wild. Let's just say I was really getting into it, shall we?  
Anyway, just before the dream really got underway I knew someone was in my room. This set off my mental alarm. I woke up, of course, and the dream slipped through the fingers of my mind. I lay still, though, and listened carefully. Nothing.  
It had to be Logan.  
Sure enough when I opened my eyes the big guy was slouched in the chair by my bed, doing his usual imitation of a Mafia hit man. I could see the moonlight glinting off his eyeballs and knew he was watching me. I glanced at the clock. Thank God it was a Friday night.  
"Good morning, Logan," I said, smothering both a yawn and a mild irritation that he'd managed to wake me. "I thought you just made rounds at night. Didn't realize you played mother hen, too."  
He snorted. The sound was loud and vulgar, and the last shreds of my dream fell away. Darn it. I saw his shadowy bulk stand up and reach across to the nightstand and had barely a moment to avoid being blinded by the lamp he switched on.  
A substantial weight settled on the edge of my bed. It hadn't occurred to me until just then that Logan's metal skeleton had to weigh a lot more than just a bone one. It felt like Hank was sitting next to me, but when my eyes adjusted to the sudden light, it was only Logan.  
Only. As if he wasn't enough to handle at any one time.  
"Mornin'," he grunted as I scooted into a sitting position. Just when I'd gotten comfortable, he threw back my covers and scooped me out of the bed. "We gotta talk, bub."  
The tone of his voice would have scared wild dogs away.  
He deposited me rather abruptly in the wheelchair and pushed me out into the hall. I hissed softly. Someone had either cranked the air up out here or left a window open. I'd snuggled under my covers wearing a ratty old t-shirt and a pair of silk boxers (courtesy of Structure, by way of Uncle Charles' Carte Blanche) and had been quite warm under the heaps of blankets I preferred to sleep with. I could feel the hair rising on my neck and arms.  
"What?" I grumped as I tried to keep my teeth from chattering. "We couldn't talk back in my bedroom?"  
"No." As usual, Logan left very little room for argument.  
We made it to the top of the stairs and I felt his arms tense. Logan had carried me, wheelchair and all, up and down the main staircase any number of times, but it never failed to impress me. Yeah, I know I weighed less than 150 pounds (including the chair), but it was still a remarkable feat to me. I mean, the balance alone, well...  
I'm getting off track.  
Just as he was about to hoist me up, there was a muffled crash from down the hallway through which we'd just passed. Logan set me carefully down, let fly with a few impressive (but quiet) oaths, and stalked down the hall toward what sounded like Bobby's room. I winced inwardly. My friend was about to be torn a new one. And I was going to miss it, to my annoyance.  
I had bigger problems, however, because while I was leaning toward the boy's hall, trying my best to listen to the familiar tones of Logan cussing out one of the students, the wheelchair started to roll forward. I looked down in alarm.  
In case no one ever mentioned it, Xavier's mansion isn't a new building. I won't go into detail here, but from what I've learned it's actually one of the oldest buildings on Long Island. Quite understandable, then, that there would be certain areas that aren't quite on a proper level with the rest of the place. The second-floor foyer, at the top of the staircase, was mostly level except for the one unlucky spot where Logan had parked my sorry behind.  
"Oh, crap," I muttered, groping for the brakes. I realized, belatedly, that leaning forward to look for the levers - while moving forward - was probably not the best way to arrest my movement. It didn't even occur to me to just grab the wheels and stop them with my hands. I'd torn enough skin off my palms to know better than to grab a rubber tire while it's in motion. Instead, I looked around for something to grab. Just my luck that Uncle Charles subscribed to a style of interior décor that was a combination of, say, Spartan and ascetic. Sort of a 'less is more' philosophy taken to the illogical extreme.  
In other words, I was probably going to go down the stairs like a character in a badly written comedy.  
I panicked for a brief instant, eyes darting around at hyper-speed trying to find any sort of handhold, however slight. I couldn't even tip the chair over, if that gives you any idea how little I weighed at the time. No matter what happened, I wouldn't embarrass myself by yelling for help...or screaming like a girl again.  
Salvation! There: the topmost banister on the right. If I timed this right, I could shove off and grab hold of it just before the chair went over the first step. It would be a gamble, but probably a worthwhile one. The choice was between risking my dignity and risking a broken neck.  
Not much of a choice, hmm?  
I waited as long as possible before acting. With a final glance down the hall (Logan, alas, was nowhere in sight) I gathered as much of myself as could move and shoved off hard. The chair jogged slightly to the left, as I'd intended, letting the right front wheel to tumble down to the first step before the left one. This movement caused the chair to topple to the right, which gave me a little more clearance over the arm of the darn thing.  
With as mighty a heave as I could muster, I thrust myself over the arm of the chair and groped desperately for the banister. And prayed. Mustn't forget the prayers.  
The chair, already unbalanced, was pulled forward by its own weight and went tumbling down to the lobby with an appallingly loud crash. Had I rode it all the way down, I'd have been caught underneath and probably have ended up chewing aspirin like candy for the next several weeks.  
I was a little surprised and disappointed that the racket didn't wake any more people than it did. There's a part of me that felt rather proud of the sheer amount of noise I'd managed to create. It's a guy thing.  
Jean woke up, since hers was the room closest to the staircase down the girl's wing. Amara, who had the room across the hall, followed Red out to check out my mess. Sam and Lance also wandered out, rubbing their eyes and cursing vigorously in my direction. It sounded quite funny, actually, to hear Lance's Chicago accent competing with Sam's southern drawl as they bitched at me for waking them up. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing as I leaned against the balustrade.  
Not laughing was probably a smart move in more ways that one. If I'd laughed I'd have probably been smacked or fallen down the stairs, straight odds either way. I was unsteady on my feet; shaking in laughter would have been enough to tip me over the edge. Still, I was grinning quite openly when Logan came down the hall trailed by Bobby, who was doing his best to be quiet about it.  
Logan stopped about five feet away and just stared at me. A hush fell over the little crowd of gawkers as he ran his eyes over me. He'd produced a cigar from somewhere and was gnawing on it, unlit. Every once in a while he'd scratch at his throat. The sound of it was that of sandpaper on glass; it sounded as though his stubble could rasp wood. Logan's pretty much an all-around menace; it's not just his claws you have to worry about.  
After perhaps three or four minutes of this, I started tiring out and swaying back and forth. The reactions were immediate: Sam, Bobby, and Lance all stepped forward when they saw me falter and Jean steadied me without moving, her mind holding me in place. Rahne didn't budge an inch, which was probably for the best. Too many cooks, as they say. Logan just stood there, cocking an eyebrow at Red and looking at me with an unfathomable expression.  
"All right, kiddies, back to bed," he growled. Sam and Rahne obeyed immediately, but Logan had to glare at Bobby before my friend would go back down the hall to his bed. The Iceman gave me a jaunty salute before he headed off to sleep.  
Lance caught my eye. "Stay awake after you go back to your room," he muttered so softly I almost didn't hear him. "You've got to tell me what's going on." He squeezed my shoulder and disappeared down the hall past Logan.  
That left me alone with Red and the big guy. Yippee. I could think of better ways to spend my night than by getting lectured on the value of Institute equipment and I was fully prepared to say so.  
Jean, continuing her hold on me, moved around to stand next to Logan, who'd resumed his cigar-chomping vigil for some reason. I've never been able to read his face, but Jean was clearly impressed by something she saw in or on me. And for once she wasn't broadcasting it into my mind. Wonder of wonders.  
That got a frown out of her as I expected it would. Hooray for me. She still hadn't given up on the habit of listening in on my thoughts.  
'If you're done being rude,' she thought at me, 'why don't you look down so you can see why we're surprised?'  
I did as I was told and very nearly lost my grip on the balustrade. That would have sort of defeated the purpose of throwing myself from a moving wheelchair, so I grabbed on again and just stared.  
I was standing on my own two feet. What's more, I could feel myself making each and every one of the hundreds of tiny little movements involved in keeping balance. Shifting my weight, moving my legs slightly, working my knees - all of it. I was tired and weak, but darn if I wasn't standing unaided.  
Looking back, I now realize that if Jean had let go of me at that moment, I'd probably have fainted. As it was, I could feel her in my mind, blocking that sensation. We exchanged startled looks and I'm sure she could feel my elation as well as my weariness. It was difficult, but I managed to rein in my feelings and shoot a grin in her direction.  
With careful movements I took a couple steps toward her and Logan, feeling a sudden urge to hug someone. Had I considered the situation, I'd have stayed where I was until Logan could pick up and carry me either downstairs or back to bed. Had I been fully awake, I might have asked Jean to see if she could figure out how much control I'd have over my appendages. Had I given even the slightest thought to my condition, I'd have stayed put and let someone come to me. Instead, I acted without thought, giving myself over to my feelings. I was whole! I could walk again! Soon I'd be able to run!  
Soon, but not yet.  
Instead, I fell flat on my face.  
  
"Damn, Pietro, you look pretty bad," Lance told me the next morning at breakfast.  
I rolled my eyes, stifling a snort along the way. I'd learned the hard way that snorting through a broken nose hurt like hell and wasn't looking forward to doing it a second time. Even breathing was an irritation. Shish-ka-bobbed by my father, beaten to a bloody pulp by Duncan, and now this. I couldn't remember a day in the past two months in which I hadn't been in pain of one sort or another. It was getting depressing, really.  
Jean told me (after I went sprawling, which did me absolutely no good whatsoever) that if I was going to fall on the marble tile of the hallways or foyer again, I might want to make more of an effort to protect my face. I'd tried to sneer at her, but pain shot across my face and I had to settle for muttering something evil about her mother's carnal habits instead.  
Still, I'd woken up to the feel of heavy blankets across my body: my entire body. That fact alone had put me into a pretty good mood from the start. I'll be the first to admit that I'm not a morning person, but I couldn't help but smile right out of bed. I hadn't imagined it; I really could feel and move my legs again.  
Summers had charge of me this morning and had woken me up a little past ten. He'd been delighted at the sudden improvement in my health. I'm not making that up. He actually bubbled. If he hadn't shut up after the first few minutes of gushing, I'd have had to help him. I'd actually had to restrain myself from reaching for a shoe, or a lamp, or maybe that copy of Les Misérables I was supposed to be reading for English.  
As we quickly found out, not everything was back to normal. I had feeling in my legs, but almost no strength to use them. Standing wasn't too much of a problem as long as I had something to hold onto. If I tried really hard, I could even take a few steps forward. But it was exhausting, if not actually impossible.  
In addition, though it hadn't been noticeable the night before, but there was a slight numbness to my right leg; apparently not all the damage had healed.  
Still, it was an improvement.  
After walking from the bed to the dresser and back (a mistake on my part) I was wiped out. It's no exaggeration to say that the sweat was dripping off me. Still, I was walking again. Even if I was having to lean on Summers to do so. My body overrode my pride in the end. I clenched my teeth and submitted to being returned to the wheelchair that had defined the last six weeks of my life.  
I'd woken up late and expected the breakfast buffet to be picked over since most of my classmates were earlier risers than I was. I was wrong, as it turned out. In fact, I was quite surprised to find that the dining room was full. The adults were nowhere to be seen, but every last one of us kids was in there. I should have been suspicious at that point; getting all of us in one place for anything other than an emergency was an exercise in despair most of the time.  
But my paranoia didn't rear its ugly head at all and so I found myself digging into a bowl of Rice Chex and raspberries (topped with a dozen sugar packets) without a second thought. We've already established that I have a bottomless pit for a stomach. My first move that morning, as on any other, was to quiet its persistent gurgling; if I didn't, I'd never hear the end of it. No pun intended.  
I caught a glimpse of Kurt a few seats away from me; that got me thinking about my dilemma. Logan was right, as much as I hated to admit to it. All the adults knew the score. As far as I knew, only Summers, Jean, Lance, and Rahne were aware of the relationship between Kurt and me. The problem was everyone else. See, the prolonged secrecy was translating into stress for both Kurt and myself. One of us had to say something or the pressure would eat us alive.  
Trouble is, I didn't think I had the sack to stand up in front of the household and just out the two of us.  
For all I knew, they'd treat us like lepers or something. I realized at that moment just how accustomed to living at the Institute I'd gotten. I was actually afraid of being the mansion's bogeyman just because Kurt and I happened to be queers or fairies or fags or whatever the current popular term was.  
A glass shattered, bringing me out of my thoughts. I looked up to find everyone, and I do mean every single person, staring at me with very wide eyes. I raised an eyebrow and quickly checked my reflection in my spoon. Aside from a really ugly splint and crossed bandages over the bridge of my nose, there wasn't anything out of the ordinary. I don't know what I expected to find, though an image of the word DORK tattooed on my forehead came to mind.  
Sam, who'd dropped his orange juice, was pale; his jaw worked a couple times, but nothing came out. After a moment, he squatted down and started picking up the broken pieces of his glass. Nobody bothered to so much as glance at him.  
I looked down the table and caught Jean's eye. It was a little hard to do and I admit that I ended up snapping my fingers in her direction. Rude, perhaps, but any road in a storm, as they say.  
"What?" I asked around a mouthful of cereal. It came out more along the lines of "Whuff?"  
Fear my articulacy!  
There was a collective intake of breath. I swear the air pressure in the room must have dropped a couple of percentage points. Then it was my turn to look shocked. I'd clearly heard that thought broadcast to the entire room - audibly. I swallowed hard and glanced at Kurt, who was doing his best to feign invisibility.  
"Oh, God, Jean," I whispered hoarsely. My voice was loud in the room. "Tell me you didn't just do that."  
I looked down the table. She didn't even bother meeting my eye. Both Summers and Red had the decency to look embarrassed at the Mental Marvel's bone-headed act. Too bad it was too late to do anything about it. Best I - we - could hope for would be to minimize the damage.  
So I looked at everyone in turn, looking into each of their for a couple seconds before moving on. From Lance, to my left, down past Jean and Summers at the far end, up to Wanda on my right, with a slight detour for Sam, who was still picking shards of glass off the floor. No one blinked.  
I cleared my throat to speak, but Sam interrupted me.  
"You shall not lie with a man as you would a woman: it is an abomination."  
Everyone's head swiveled to Sam, who had stood up and was looking at me with a curious expression.  
"Excuse me?" I snapped. I couldn't have heard that.  
"Leviticus. Chapter 18, Verse 22," [1] he replied, meeting my gaze with hooded eyes. It wasn't terribly visible, but he was undoubtedly upset with me or Kurt or both of us. "You shall not lie with a man as you would- "  
"I heard you, I heard you," I sighed. Just my luck there was a fundamentalist Christian in the room. I had a list of reasons as long as my arm for not following any religion. The unreasonable attitude of most Christians toward people like Kurt and myself was somewhere near the top.  
I considered coming back with the fact that Kurt and I hadn't actually done the deed, but it's a rare guy that will admit to being a virgin. Eons of bragging of our prowess will do that to a gender. My mouth almost got the better of me anyway; I was on the verge of saying something smart (actually, downright crass; I had very little liking for Bible-thumpers) when Kurt beat me to it. Heads swiveled in his direction, like some kind of outlandish tennis match.  
"Is that not in the same part of the Book that says: you shall not vear clothing made of two different materials? Or plant a garden with more than one type of seed? Or trim your beard?" he asked into the hush. "You shave, don't you Sam? Let's see, Leviticus also discriminates against the blind, the lame, the injured; against short people and ugly people; against widows and divorcées; and pretty much anyone who isn't considered beautiful." [2] I didn't remember that part of the Bible, but the contempt dripping from Kurt's voice was unmistakable. That was a new sound for me. Up until now, I'd never have believed that Kurt would ever use such a tone of voice.  
Everyone looked back at Sam for his rejoinder, including me. He said not a word, but set the plate of broken glass on the table and left the room grumbling something under his breath. I could tell he was going to be a problem, but didn't think it was anything I couldn't handle.  
As soon as he left the room, the eyes turned back to me. The best thing to do, I reasoned, was to just act normal. It's not like Kurt or I had actually changed. I mean, our secret was out but that was all.  
Let me interrupt here and explain that I mean secret in the most basic sense of the word. I know it seems to have negative connotations, but I can't help that. Kurt and I had kept our relationship from the other students not because we felt guilty (heck, anything but), but because we feared their reaction when they finally perceived us as being 'different.' It's not like we'd actually changed, though. Kurt was still the little fur- ball they'd come to know and love. I hadn't changed either. So what was the big deal?  
To that end I pointedly picked up my spoon and crunched loudly into my cereal, which hadn't gone soggy at all. Gotta love Chex. I nudged Lance, who blinked a couple times before focusing on me.  
"Mind passing the funny pages my way?" I asked in as normal a tone as I could muster. Someone snickered (I don't know who) and suddenly things were all right.  
Conversation broke out along the table and life, for the moment, returned to normal. Every once in a while, I looked up to find one or another of my peers watching me but not out of malice or misguided religious beliefs. Just curiosity. Amara wouldn't meet my gaze and Ray shifted his chair every so slightly away from Kurt, but neither of them were hostile. Uncomfortable, granted, but not hostile. But most of them, in fact, actually smiled at me. Doug went so far as to give me a thumbs- up, to which I responded with a mock-lecherous leering smirk.  
All right, so I was flirting. So what?  
After a few minutes, people started breaking away. Rogue leaned over and kissed Kurt's on the top of his head as she wandered out. That was a good sign. She whispered something in his ear before disappearing out the door. Roberto and Wanda both congratulated the two of us loudly, with pointed glances at Amara and Ray. The latter two were mortified and I was inwardly smirking at their discomfort.  
Inwardly or not, though, Jean still shot me a reproving look before she and Summers left. I don't know how he managed to survive that relationship. If I was in his shoes, Jean'd probably have killed me the first time I so much as glanced at another girl. I mean, really, did he hide his thoughts from her all the time or, and this was disconcerting, was I the only mind she monitored constantly?  
'Right the second time,' her voice sounded in my head. My eyes narrowed. That was getting seriously annoying.  
After maybe twenty minutes or so, the dining room was more or less empty; only Kurt and myself remained in the room.  
"Well," I said, chasing the last raspberry around the bottom of my bowl. "Wow." I hadn't thought that would go over as easily as it did.  
Kurt cleared his throat.  
"Ja, vow." He grinned suddenly. "That vent vell, I think."  
I snorted in laughter, wincing as my nose protested the sudden movement. "Whose idea was it to project my thoughts to the room?"  
"Jean's, but it vas Logan who suggested it to her."  
That reminded me of Logan's aborted conversation of the night before. He'd said we needed to talk and we hadn't gotten around to it. I'd make a point of asking him about it later on.  
"Guess he was getting tired of my stalling," I noted. I pushed the wheelchair away from the table and stood. Kurt's eyes went wide; I guess no one had mentioned this to him.  
It took a while, but I managed to walk over to stand behind him. What an effort! The guy was five feet away from me and it took no less than five minutes to move over to him. You do the math. I was downright pooped by the time I was done, too, and took the liberty of wrapping my arms around him from behind to steady myself. Half-balancing, half- hugging.  
I nuzzled his fur gently, mindful of my broken nose, and closed my eyes as I hugged him. After a moment, his tail snaked around me and squeezed back.  
"The future, meinen Weisslichspatz [3], is looking a little brighter this morning, ja?"  
"Mmm," I mumbled. He'd changed his body wash again and the smell of sandalwood was distracting the heck out of me. "You might say that."  
  
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To Be Continued.  
  
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[1]: The Bible has a lot of rules about sex in this particular chapter, almost all of which involve heterosexual relationships. That seems to indicate that straights need a lot more supervision, doesn't it?  
  
[2]: Leviticus 19:19 - my favourite rejoinder for the Leviticus argument - contains the line about clothing. If gay people are condemned to hell, at least they'll be in well-dressed company.  
  
All the rest of the restrictions and discriminations can be found in Leviticus 18-21. There's a bunch of stuff like that in there and it's a real hoot to read. Maybe it's just me, but it's hard to explain. Just read it, out loud if possible, and see how far you get without laughing.  
  
[3]: "my pale sparrow," a reference to Pietro's albino colouration and his delicate bone structure. An adaptation of the popular German pet name Spatzi (little sparrow...sort of.).  
  
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To My Reviewers:  
  
Storm-Pietro: :)  
  
Erica: Sorry about the 'soon.' The Pietro/Wolverine after midnight chats are a staple of this fic. The Kurt/Pietro thing will heat up a bit in a chapter or two.  
  
Ultramatt17: I'm a font of useless pop culture information. Thanks, in regards to the Wanda/Pietro convo. Wasn't sure how that would come out. "There's an old saying at the Xavier Institute: Logan doesn't get mad. He gets even." Bonus points if you can tell me the name of the character (and the movie) I've just paraphrased. Regarding the stunted Magneto/Pietro convo: that was a goof on my part. Doh. I don't actually read my own materiel after I've ready it, so I forgot that I waxed Freddy and vanished St. John and Todd in my previous fic. Whoops. Good news is that you might get some of the answers you seek in upcoming chapters.  
  
Mizzan: :) Thanks.  
  
Tsuki no Tenchi: Damn, girl. Settle down before you have a spontaneous orgasm. It's a good story, but jeez. :p Glad you're enjoying it, though.  
  
Daybreak-chan: Obsessive? Is that the term for it? Glad you like it and hey - if you find any more Pietro/Kurt fics, let me know, ok? ("Ahh, and I'm going to have to ask you to come in on Sunday, too...mmm-kay? Thaaaaaanks...") 


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